


What a World

by lehavashadowsun



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Arlathan OC, Begging, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Egg beating, Elevator Sex, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food Sex, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love/Hate, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Modern Girl in Thedas, Pain, Pegging, Rape Fantasy, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, Varric Tethras Writes, daddy solas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 34,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehavashadowsun/pseuds/lehavashadowsun
Summary: Collection of one-shots and some multi-parts detailing Solas and Thema Lavellan's relationship through the story line of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Thema, who comes from Earth and has played Dragon Age, finds that sometimes hate and love aren't that different.





	1. As Days Pass

**The First Time**

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. They hated each other, eyed each other from across Haven and enemies that wanted to kill them. Every word and movement was a dance that looked for weakness. It was not supposed to happen this way.

She had surprised him first.

Coming to him in the middle of the day, legs anchored in snow and mud, shoulders squared back as she gave him a cunning smirk. ‘Sleep with me? We both hate each other, the sex would be awesome and we won’t get feelings involved in a little tension relief.’

His shock must have shown on his face because her smirk grew, a look of triumph spreading. It pricked at something inside that he tried to keep repressed ever since he had started the rebellions. That sadistic little thing in the back of his mind that refused to let anyone get the upper hand on him, not some scrap of a woman who didn’t even belong in this world. The Dalish had more claim to this world than she did.

‘Very well.’ Solas’ lips started their own mimicking smirk at her shock. It crumbled as soon as it started when she stated that she’d bring the wine to ‘make it easier on both of us’.

**The Fourth Time**

They hadn’t made it back to his hut.

She had been in the Chantry’s war room poring over the map, trying to learn Thedas’ geography. That he had been there was just coincidence, he had been delivering healing potions to Mother Giselle on behalf of Adan. A mere glance into the room had presented him with the sight of Thema bent over the map, one foot rubbing over the back of her calf.

His gaze had attached itself to her posterior, far more rounded than normal Dalish. Just like her bodies coloring was being affected by the mark, something he couldn’t stop, her physique was changing to match her original one. Hips were growing just a bit wider, her chest more full. The blood in his veins whispered that those wide hips of hers just gave him something more to hold onto, and the curve of her ass would feel delectable against his groin as he fucked her.

With ears growing pink he would have just turned away and gone home, but she glanced over her shoulder at him. That look was one that would become so familiar to him, a dare that he wouldn’t do what he wanted to. Then she bent over further, ass out and legs spread just a little.

Mother Giselle was oblivious to it, or just ignored it for posterity, and thanked him for the potions. The Chantry woman left to deliver the needed items to her fellows, and was gone by the time the war room door slammed shut.

He fucked her over the table, hands testing the plumpness of her breasts and the grip at her hip. Marks were left on her neck to the sound of their pleasure, the wet squelch of her cunt around him and the moans she made into the mountains of the Free Marches.

They didn’t bother to put the Inquisition’s markers back into place when they left.

**The Eleventh Time**

Sex fueled by adrenaline and barely escaping death.

Cassandra and Varric were tucked into their respective tents, healing from wounds caused by the Hinterland Dragon. The two elves had snuck away from the camp, in pain from bandaged wounds, mana run low, tearing at each others clothes.

Dirt and moss lingered in places they shouldn’t, rolling on the ground. It was harsh and selfish, each racing for their own climax to feel alive again.

**The Twentieth Time**

Thema was haunted still after their return from Redcliffe. He caught her watching him with sorrow and guilt several times, teeth digging into her bottom lip. She did not come to him for several days and he worried.

He should not worry.

In the middle of the night she crept into his bed, pulling him from the fade with urgent fingers. Whatever had been on her mind was finally being released. The woman explored his body, almost frantic, and when she didn’t find what it was that she was looking for, sat herself upon his cock. His name dropped from her lips for the first time that night, nails digging into his chest with every drop upon him.

There was an edge to it all that he was scared of, and it lingered in the back of her gaze as well.

**The Twenty-Fifth Time**

It was the first time in her bed, first time time he’d been invited into her space.

It was the first time they kissed and they stayed together until dawn.

**The Thirty-Sixth Time**

Fear had been a hard lump in his throat when the mountain came crashing down on top of Haven and his… lover. Hatred had faded from his blood, and he knew it had faded from hers as well. Now they smiled when together, touched without the promise of sex, spent time talking and figuring each other out. Their companions even remarked on the changes.

Dorian had clasped him on the shoulder as he watched the path behind them, camp after camp.

When she was found it was like he could breath again. Nights spent by her side, healing her wounds, amazed she had made it. Yet… she had prepared for this, hinted at this, and now he had to lend credence to her that she had done this before. Maybe not personally, but had seen what would happen. So many more had been saved than expected though she had not been spared pain.

The look upon her face when they sang to her had been of great exasperation. He couldn’t help but chuckle, nearly laughing when she turned a pleading gaze to him. There was grumbling when he led her away to the waypoint marker, until he took her into his arms. He needn’t say anything, she already knew about the orb, Corypheus and Skyhold.

They ranged ahead of the main group, leaving signs in their wake for them to follow. Good time was made and they would reach the Hold days before they would. Thema was already planning on making changes to the structure - adding hot water and plumbing, strengthening the magic he had woven into the mountain.

One night when they bedded in a cave she decided to open his eyes to a new sexual act he had never experienced before. In Arlathan something like was just not done. There were defined roles for men and women in sex and for a woman to do… that… was unheard of.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands, one was strangling the bedroll, the other clawing the ground. Breath was sparse in his lungs, taken by cries of ecstasy as her head bobbed between his legs. He couldn’t take the sight of her lips stretched around the girth of his cock, the saliva glistening in the firelight, coupled with the feel of wet heat, a tongue that eagerly traced patterns over silken skin.

Thema was enjoying this, her moans vibrated around him, one hand working between her legs. That she enjoyed doing this to him as much as he was made his cock throb even more.

His mind was racing, trying to wrap around what she was doing to him, process the sensation of her mouth coupled with her hand working what wasn’t in her. The way her tongue twisted around the head of his cock, followed by sweet suction.

She let him fall from her mouth, smirking when he whimpered. ‘I wanted to do this for so long, Solas…’ A soft kiss was pressed to the wet head, a hint of tongue, as she watched him. Blue-brown eyes flashed with heat, holding his gaze. ‘I’m going to make you cum so hard.’

His head hit the bedroll with a groan. This was going to be how he died. His cock as hard as dragonbone and her laughing at him.

Then… dear Maker or whoever was up there, he was willing to pray to the Dalish Creators, she turned her attention to his sac. Her hand continued to jerk him off while she took his balls into her mouth, treating them just as she had his cock. It was a shameful sound he made, thighs jerking on either side of his lovers head, fingers leaving deep grooves in the cave floor.

Solas started to babble, in Common and Elvhen, trying to warn her that he was going to cum. It was there in his stomach, in the base of his spine, the way his sac was tight to his body.

She didn’t heed his warning and slipped him back into her mouth. There was nothing he could do to stop it, only try to hold onto the earth as everything broke around him. It was the strongest orgasm he’d had and it was without the touch of magick. One corner of his mind, throwing itself against the walls of his mind like a butterfly in a glass jar, was screaming that he had cum in her mouth!

He could barely raise his head to look at her and was shocked yet again to see her sitting on her heels watching him. The Inquisitor merely smirked at him and showed him her tongue full of his cum. It was creamy white against the pink, and now he noticed some was leaking, dripping down her chin. If he was able to get hard again he would have been when she swallowed it down.

‘You taste so good… I’m going to make you cum so many times tonight.’

This woman was going to be the death of him.


	2. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of levity amongst all the chaos.

“The Iron Bull.”

“Not even!” Thema wrinkled her nose at her lover. “Just why? His dick is probably as big as his arm. No way in hell that would fit!”

Solas chuckled, flipping the page in his book. “You are into experiencing new things, I would have thought he would present as an interesting prospect.” The chuckle turned into a laugh when the elvhen woman smacked his arm.

“If I wanted to live after all the internal bleeding!”

Somehow this lazy day had found them in bed, enjoying their solitude in the afternoon, both with their own books. Thema wore his sweater after declaring ‘girlfriend privileges’, laying on her stomach with her tome propped up on her pillow. Somehow she had found a dye in Orlais, applying the black substance to the lower half of her white hair. The black strands were constantly being played with, both by herself and the apostate.

He laid on his back, book propped on his bare stomach with the help of a little magic. His own clothing was pajama pants his love had commissioned for him. Dark blue samite, lined inside with velvet, and a drawstring to keep them up. It was never used, and the luxurious pants sagged about his hips. He enjoyed wearing them in that fashion as the young woman stared, seeming torn between enjoying her view and pulling them off him.

“Cullen.”

This time he snorted at her gagging sounds.

“Too pure! Too goody, too… naive?”

“Hm… Sera?”

“No.”

“Blackwall.”

Thema scoffed, eyes tracing the words on the page but not really reading. “Too old.”

The few heartbeats of silence made her look up. Solas was propped up on his elbow, open book in hands, staring at her. “Too old?”

“Yes.” She drew out the word, eyeing him in confusion. His brow went up and he stayed silent. There was something he was waiting for her to get. “What?”

It only took a few more moments of him staring at her like that before she got it. The Inquistor burst into peals of laughter, falling onto her side. “It’s different!”

“Oh, truly?”

The look on his face made her laugh harder, soon descending into silent convulsions of hilarity. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and her paled skin was turning an alarming shade of red. Anything she started to say got lost in the moment, and even his displeased facade started to crack.

A crooked smile started to form and broadened further when she regained enough sense to pepper his face with kisses. “Vhenan…”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me this, Solas, ma’lin, because they don’t have a chance on Thedas or Earth of getting my heart.” Thema pressed a longer kiss to his lips, the brief brush of tongues pulling forth a pleased hum. “You please me better than Bull ever could, and I love your broken edges. They fit mine so perfectly.”

Books were pushed off the bed, the clatter ignored as he pulled her into his laps, his mouth insistent on hers. He would never get used to the things she said, how she loved him, wanted him, completely. Words failed him when this foreign woman spoke and so he used his body to show her.


	3. (NSFW) Delightful Cream

He was a sight to behold in his pleasure. The way his skin flushed pink from his cheekbones to ear tips, down into his neck and shoulders, the pale teeth digging into a flush bottom lip to keep back his sounds. His fingers never seemed to know what to do, grabbing at whatever was under him, in her hair, or scratching at his own skin. That freckle-kissed expanse would twitch and shake under her touch, muscles moving like rippling waves underneath.

Solas always wondered why she loved to touch, touch, touch, when his body in passion was a sight to behold.

It was when he abandoned decorum and lost himself in what she offered that he looked like the God the Dalish believed he was. Guttural groans, breathy panting, chanted Elvhen and her name on his lips, hands in her hair, hips moving against her mouth and heartbeat racing like meteors in the sky. The thin sheen of sweat that made his skin seem to shimmer, little bits of frost in it and the scent of ozone in the air as he lost grip on his magic. It flowed over her skin like warm water, winter wind, chased by the green of fade and spirit magic.

He also wondered why she enjoyed pleasing him so frequently and so fervently with tongue and lips.

This day his lover had brought along something else: a bowl of heavy sweet cream, freshly made. Thema had smirked when he stared at the bowl, then her. She had offered him a fingerful of it, delighting his enjoyment of the accompaniment, before really showing him what she intended to do with it.

Kisses were flavored sweeter than usual, melted like butter in the hollow of his collarbones, dabbed like stars in the night sky on his chest and pooled in his navel. She painted him like he painted his frescoes, carefully applying to the canvas of his skin, removing with the paintbrush strokes of her tongue. It was a work in progress, liberally reapplied and removed several times.

The mage twitched and shifted under her, head fallen back and eyes closed. She knew he had figured out what she was going to do by now and felt his anticipation under her hips, hot and throbbing. Her own panties and shorts were soaked through, eagerly wanting the taste of him to mix with the cream on her tongue.

Finally, after far too long, her attention was finally turned towards his arousal. It laid across his stomach, curving gently, the head flushed red and emerging from it’s cap. His was not too long, a little over the length of her hand, but wider around in a way that he scratched all the right places in sex. Width over length, she teased him, enjoying how he flushed red. He had used that statement against her that same evening after reducing her to quivering, chuckling into her ear.

The weight of him in her hand was pleasing, the way the veins stood out against his skin. A grin was offered to her lover, tongue sliding over her lips and then teeth. “Are you ready?” There was only a muffled moan as her answer, a small giggle escaping her, from under the hand that covered his mouth.

Thema pressed a kiss to the weeping head, echoing his moan as the bitter taste mixed with cream. She wouldn’t start there, not this time. Her attention turned a little further down, hot breath sliding over his sac. An open mouthed kiss was pressed to the silky soft skin and his cock seemed to shiver in her grasp. His whole body jerked when she pulled the right orb into her mouth, rolling her tongue around it, sucking gently to pull it back to her throat. There were louder sounds from Solas, her name half-formed through a throaty groan. The wet orb was released and the same treatment given to it’s brethren.

She would break through his facade and pull out his cadence of ecstasy.

Solas’ hips were starting to rock against her hand, trying to find friction in her grip. A glance up showed he had buried his face in the bent crook of his arm, hand gripping the pillow cover in a death hold. His other had found the ends of her long tresses, twining his fingers into them. The elf rewarded her with another whine as she took pity on him, fingers stroking along the twitching length, massaging the now bared and wet head. His hand left her hair, grasping at the one that rested on his hip, pulling it to his mouth so that hot kisses could be placed on her sticky-sweet palms and fingers.

“Sathan, ma lath, sathan… sathan…”

So responsive… She thrilled in the power - and some bare twinge of guilt - she held in these moments, that she could bring Fen’harel to begging. “Vin, ara’sal’shiral.”

If he had not had hold of her hand she would have decorated him with more of the cream. It was no great loss, the taste of his skin and fluid was more than enough to make her hunger. Thema wrapped the stroke of her tongue around him, from base to head, slipping him into her wet and sultry mouth in one smooth move. It was a slow adjustment, taking his girth, rolling each inch into her with the bob of her head.

He was sucking on her middle finger now, scrapping over knuckle and fingerpad with his teeth. It sent a bolt of hot lust from her cunt to her toes, curling them in the heavy coverlet - smokey topaz in silk - on the bed. The things the man did with his mouth should be illegal.

The hand not in his hold massaged his balls, delighting in feeling them warm and heavy. He would not last much longer if she judged it right. Thema moaned around him, suckling at his flesh until she felt him nudged at her throat. Ah, that is exactly where she wanted him. The twist of her head and a harsh draw of his cock had him spilling precum onto her tongue, her name crying out into the room. Liquid was swallowed down with a praising noise and the motion of her head grew almost frenzied as his sac tightened under her touch.

Harsh panting, shattered whines and cries filled the air, driving back what remained of silence. The restraint on her had was crushing, an anchor for her lover in his storm, and their hands rested over his heart. It was drumming so hard against his rib cage she feared for a moment that it might burst.

It was felt on her tongue as well, every vein in sharp relief and fluttering like hummingbirds wings. She sucked harder in response, growled, and then pressed fingertips into the skin behind his balls, stroking once, then twice. The breaking happened with a shout of her name, his cum filling her mouth full even though she swallowed hastily, drinking it up.

So much better than the cream.

When he finally fell spit-covered and spent from her mouth she had no time to look at him before she was on her back. Solas hovered over her, covered in the wintry blue sheen of a restorative spell. The look on his face, the almost malicious smirk on his lips, had her cunt throbbing.

“My turn.” He purred, fingers covered in cream. 

Sathan - please  
ma lath - my love  
Vin - yes  
Ara’sal’shiral - my life/love’s journey


	4. Sleeping with a Cuddler

“Vhenan…”

Solas prodded the side, or theorized side, of the bundle that was glued to his chest. It was all comforter, sheets and coverlet with tufts of white hair sticking out under his chin and bare legs thrown over his hips like usual. The lump shifted, making a displeased sound, and the freezing feet against his thigh dug in.

After reaching back and shifting the cold skin away from his, he poked again. “Vhenan, wake up.”

“Nnrrgh.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the noise, though his fingers now dug under the cloth to find flesh. “Vhenan.”

“Whaaat?” A flap was lifted, sleepy blue eyes peering up at him. “What, ‘las?”

“My arm-”

“Arm.” Thema pointedly look at the one that was now truly poking her in the side.

“My other arm, Them’. I would like it back, it has fallen asleep.” He couldn’t feel his fingers past where her head rested upon it and the numb sensation was creeping up to his shoulder.

The Inquisitor buried herself back under her layers but shifted her head to his chest. “Jus’ say so nex’ ‘ime.” With those words his love and tormentor dropped back into sleep. There was a soft little snore starting, one he hoped wouldn’t turn into what she called a ‘chainsaw’.

“What is it Dorian says…” Solas muttered, rubbing feeling back into his appendage. “Festis bei umo cavanarum, I believe.”


	5. Frilly Cupcakes and Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt fill for dadrunkwriting on Tumblr

For the first time in three years they managed to have this one day in the safety of Skyhold. Usually it was spent far away from home, covered in dirt or sand, blood, guts, rain, or whatever the area they were in threw at them. To be able to spend this time in peace and safety was a blessing, and one that Thema would not waste. She had planned, staying behind in Halamshiral after the ball to do it, almost everything.

The only hope was that Solas would like it.

Not saying anything had been a challenge; timing her lovers’ routine had been easier. Making sure he didn’t stay face down in some tome for the night had been almost impossible. With the entire Inner Circle at attendance in Halamshiral Thema had snuck into the library and filched several old books, any that looked like they would benefit the Inquisition, and any that she thought Solas would appreciate. If Celene’s staff even noticed them missing, no word had been spread of the theft. It was just a stroke of the ego that she had managed to get away with it.

Around the various meetings of the day, and reviewing troop movement, etc, she had persistently reminded Solas that she expected him in their quarters that evening. As it got closer to dinner he was ready to throw her out of the rotunda and bar the door. There was even a quickie involved with a little hair pulling and biting, as if he thought that sex was all she was after, or that such a hurried affair would appease her. Thema snorted at the thought, she’d been spoiled in bed by the elf and sex was always on the table, but that wasn’t what she was after this time.

At least, not right away.

Now she waited for Solas, watching the stars appear through the stained glass windows. A box, lovingly wrapped, sat on her lap in her sweaty hands. It had arrived from the city a few days ago, kept chilled in the Mage Tower to keep it away from her love, and the second part of the night had been delivered this morning. Keeping a hold on the box was the only thing that kept her from fidgeting with the apparel even more than she already had.

It had been expensive, getting these two items in time for the day, and what was needed to make them. Josephine had squawked at the price at first. The Inquisitor merely pointed out that this was the first time she’d had a chance to celebrate with Solas, and that she had not spent much gold on anything that wasn’t needed for the Inner Circle. This had been met with shamed silence before the Antivan launched into trying to help her, making sure that everything went as planned. A mental note sat in the back of her mind to get Josephine something nice for her assistance and romantic heart.

Time continued to pass, the moon rising further in the sky, and her nerves started to fray. Was he coming? One foot was drumming a rhythm on the floor, fingers tapping the side of the box. The longer she waited, the more she doubted, and tears started to prick at the corners of her eyes. He wasn’t coming, he wasn’t coming, he wasn’t coming…

Then… the sound of the door opening, and bare feet on the stairs. Tears disappeared as she sat up, eyes trained on the space above the stone half-wall. It only took a few seconds for the elvhen man to come into view. He looked a tad annoyed, eyebrows knit together. When he found her in the room, sitting on the couch, he started to say something but saw the box. Annoyance was traded for confusion and curiosity.

“Them’?” he asked, moving to join her.

She waited until he sat beside her to offer him the container. “Happy anniversary.” The blank look she got in return made her laugh, settling her nerves. “It’s not the exact date, but… it’s been three years we’ve been together. I… wanted to celebrate that. Usually we’re in the field so…” A shrug finished her sentence.

“You should have told me, vhenan.” The box was accepted, cradled in hands stained with ink. “I would have something for you in return.” Now that she had told him, she could see traces of guilt in his features. He was regretting his temper during the day.

Thema kissed him quickly, nipping his bottom lip, with a smile. “It’s ok, Solas, you do more than enough for me. I wanted to do this, and surprise you with it, even if you want to throw things at me.” There was a small chuckle from him, but the guilt seemed to fade a little. “I have two gifts actually, these and one other.”

Nimble fingers opened the carton, putting aside the plain brown wrapping paper and the twine. She had no doubt he would find uses for them later. The symbol burned into the pale white wood, belonging to Orlais’ best patisserie, was traced with some awe. “Vhenan, you… this must have co-”

“Ah, ah!” she cut him off immediately. “It doesn’t matter! Just accept it.” If, somehow, he found out just how much this had cost, he would have a heart attack and die.

Inside the wooden package were nine cupcakes, each lovingly nestled in pale pink silk. Each one was a different flavor, written in gold ink on silver parchment – dark chocolate, vanilla, pistachio, apple pie, blueberry buttermilk, cherry cheesecake, chocolate orange marnier, toffee, raspberry white chocolate - and topped with an array of exquisite craftsmanship. There were sugar spun roses, a dragon, pearls, gold foil, lace, and even a porcelain woman whose decorated skirts compromised the topping.

Thema laughed at Solas, as he lost his jaw somewhere in the couch cushions. She could see him salivating over the sweets. “You don’t have to eat them now. In fact, it’s probably better you eat them after the second present.” Fingers plucked the last button of her night shirt undone, letting it pool about her waist. The movement of cloth gained the attention of stormy eyes, ones that seemed to widen as they took her in.

Pale skin was wrapped in dark blue lace, the proud work of Vivienne’s best seamstress. A band of lace covered her breasts, thin strands of black keeping it in place over her shoulders and around her back where skin was left open to peruse. Panties were cut high on the hip, and dipping low over her groin, more black ribbon tying it all together. A thin strip of the same lace was a collar at her neck, a small wolf pendant hanging in the hollow of her collarbones.

The way he was staring at her… Her nipples tightened against the fabric, a wet rush of heat between her legs. She had his complete and utter attention at that moment.

“Thema…” The cupcakes were set aside in lieu of pulling her into his lap. Finger tips ran over the swirling blue patterns, over her skin, eyes following their path as he devoured the sight of her. “You spoil me…”

“If you let me.” A longer, more Orlesian style kiss, was offered and taken. His hands settled on her ass, fingers digging into soft flesh. “Now… why don’t we end the day in style?”


	6. Mistakes Happen, Even Painful Ones

The maids had cleaned her room, even against her express wishes, and she was livid. There was a method to her madness, an order to her clutter and worst of all…

Worst of All

They had done the bed. Her bed had been exactly the way she wanted it, all the top sheets, comforter and coverlet in a pile in the middle that she could just bury herself in. But no, the maids couldn’t leave that well enough alone and had tucked everything under the ass end of the bed. Why did they even do that? Did they get off on knowing people were going to struggle with their beds? Was it some sadistic conspiracy that all maids - whether Thedas or Earth - were a part of?

And Solas… the man was just watching her with amusement. He had tried to just get her to sleep like some normal person but what did he know? People and their bizarre sleeping habits… The mage was already tucked in, propped up against the pillow, stifling his laughter at her cursing and tugging.

She was going to fucking show him and the maids and this damnable bed who was the boss bitch around here!

Known curses and variations of them were starting to fail her, resorting to just pissed shouting. There was a sigh behind her and the shifting of the bed. “Vhenan, please, just come to be-”

At the worst time, the worst possible pose he could be in, her hand lost it’s grip on the sheet. Cold fear gripped her stomach as the force she’d been using sent her fist flying back and quite squarely

into his groin

The sheer horror she felt was matched by her appreciation of just how large his eyes could get. They nearly popped out of his skull, all the blood draining away with the air in his lungs. He hit the bed, hands buried between his legs and instantly in the fetal position. Moans and whines of pain were instantaneous as he gulped for air. Even his toes were curled so tightly his feet had lost their color.

“Solas!” Thema was at his side instantly, unsure of what do with her hands. “I’m so sorry, babe, oh god, oh god, sorry! Sorry sorry sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear!” What did she do?!

The horror was being undermined by almost manic mirth. That her fist could bring what the Dalish would call a God into a whimpering fetal position was… Nothing that she should even laugh at but it was bubbling there in her chest.

“Do you want ice? I can get ice! Oh my god, Solas, I’m so sorry!”

There was a little nod at the mention of ice and she was immediately gone. Ice wasn’t a luxury at Skyhold, not with the mountains there and mages to help freeze the water, so no one would care that some was missing. It was shoved into a bag and she ran straight back to her lover. “Here, Solas.”

Solas was still in the fetal position, though the moaning had stopped. One hand emerged to take the bag, which was immediately shoved down the front of his pajama pants.

Thema couldn’t help it, even as bad as she felt, and a snort escaped her.

The look she received in return was so scathing that she was sure if Solas had his full power back he would have seriously considered turning her to stone at that very moment. The wheezed elvhen words that accompanied were definitely cursing her out, though.

She deserved that.

Back on Earth she had male friends who told her all about the pain her love was going through and then some. One detail stood out to her now, one that made her almost pout. “I’m not getting laid for a while, am I?”

Solas gave her a look that was mixed outrage, shock and disbelief. It was the look of a man that said ‘are you really that dumb?’. “No.” The conviction behind that word was such that she winced for even asking the question.

“Damnit.”


	7. (NSFW) Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, pegging, femdom, slight dom/sub tones

It wasn’t something that they did often, they were both content with the way things were. Solas, for the most part, controlled the bedroom no matter how forward and, well, slutty Thema acted. Outside of the bedroom was always fair play, whoever made the first move controlled the situation. Such things were never always so clear cut, they discussed a lot of things in regards to their sex life, making sure both of them were on the same page and understood what the other liked and was into. Trying something new was always welcomed and if one of them didn’t like it, was never tried again.

Thema’s first foray into anal sex was something that they’d both agreed not to do again. It just didn’t do anything for her.

Solas had countered that with offering to let her do the same thing to him. Her jaw had needed to be picked up off the floor after that, not quite sure that she’d heard him right.

That had turned into a few weeks of discourse. The supplies they needed were already there except for one crucial element. An element she was more than willing to leave in his hands as far as size and everything else. When the item had arrived she had been very impressed. Seemed that Thedas took the sex toy industry quite seriously. The leather had been high quality and soft on her skin, the instrument on the outside was made anatomically correct and had been polished to a silky feel. There was even a little rod on the inside for herself.

After her giggle fit had died down Solas had shown her the magic that had been used in it. What she did with her cock – the giggles had started again when he used the wording - would be translated into sensation inside her. He had been more than happy to show her just what he meant. A hand job and then his mouth – fucking hell, his mouth needed to be outlawed – had reduced her to a quivering mess. Nervousness had been tossed aside for anticipation.

The first time had been a bit awkward but with each subsequent time it became easier and much more pleasurable.

She always took the full day off from her role, and Solas brought his research to their bedroom. The hours were full of indulging each other, from a long hot bath to relax, to making sure he was stretched and slick enough that there would be no pain. Thema refused to take any pleasure, focusing more on giving him orgasm after orgasm until he was pliant and dazed.

The harness slipped into place easily, the smaller dildo sliding into her drenched cunt with ease. A hard stroke of her cock started the spell worked into the wood and leather, sending a rippling wave of pleasure through her wetness. She’d never get over how it felt, like some invisible phallus was fucking her in tandem with what she was doing to Solas.

“Are you ready to take my dick, babe?” Thema grinned, crawling onto the bed. The shift in power dynamic always went to her head and she thoroughly abused it.

Solas was watching her with blown out pupils and a flush that reached the tips of his elegant ears. He was stretched out on his back, cock half-hard against his stomach. His legs slipped around her waist as she settled between them, ankles locking at the small of her back. “Yes, vhenan.” The usually velvety voice was thick with need and made her bones shiver.

“Good boy.” The head of her cock rubbed against the gaping rosebud of his ass, teasing the sensitive skin before she sunk into him. Watching her cock slide into her lovers’ ass was the hottest thing she’d ever seen. That he would let her fuck him was a euphoric blend of lust and love, trust that she would take care of him. “My dick looks so good in you.”

His moan went straight to clit more than the tactile magic from the harness ever could. The way he was squeezing her, his head tipped back, hands strangling the headboard… it was a sight she would never grow tired of. As muscle loosened around her cock she started to pump her hips against his. As his pleasure grew in volume the faster and harder she went. Her own arousal was slicking her thighs, staining the harness, throbbing in her muscles.

Her gaze couldn’t decide whether she wanted to watch her cock slide in and out of Solas’ ass or his own manhood. It was swollen now, sanguine capped and leaking copiously against the straining muscles of his stomach. The smell of his musk made her moan and salivate for his taste. She buried herself into him, dipping down to drag her tongue through the puddle, groaning as he flooded her senses even further. The taste on her tongue, musk in her nose, his grip on her waist, the sight of him lost in his ecstasy, the sound of his cries and their flesh slapping together, the smack of his heels against her back…

With her thirst satisfied she started to roll her hips, seeking that one place that she would ruthlessly take advantage of. He was shifting with her, trying to help her. Thema knew she found it when his entire body jerked, his cock smacking against his skin, and his voice shattered on a keen. The wet sounds of her thrusting and his high pitched whimpers were intoxicating, spurring her on.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, Solas. You’re going to feel my cock for days.” Fingers dug into the bones of his hips as she started to fuck him in earnest. Long strokes, pulling out until she saw the head and slamming back in to the crack of leather on skin. The red flush of his ass was just another sensation that fueled her.

Her lover was lost in a sensory overload, every thrust massaging his cock from the inside. Pleasure was like white lightning in his nerves, an earthquake in his core, and a roar in his head. It was the abandonment of control, a sweet release of putting it in someone elses’ hands and trusting them not to do wrong.

The edge was coming quickly, rushing into him like a cresting wave. Thema’s next thrust was all it took to force his seed from his balls, pure bliss engulfing his body with the call of her name. He felt the pearly white strings land on his chest, his neck, even his face. The next thrust against the walls of his ass forced another jet of cum, and another, coating his chest and higher. It was the feeling of oblivion, where he was no one, not Solas, not Fen’harel, just joy and rapture.

Thema was teetering on the edge of her own orgasm when he tipped over without even the help of a hand. The sight was enough to push her over. It buried her as she cried out, body shaking and shivering under the force. “So good… so good…”

They stayed like that, trying to regain breath and balance, before separating. It almost hurt to pull out of him, but the sight of his reddened ass, the chasm of his entrance, was enough to make up for it. They should clean up before his cum dried into a sticky, flaky mess before she couldn’t bring herself to move far when she flopped down beside him. It took the rest of her energy just to take off the harness and toss it on the floor.

Heartbeats slowed and eventually enough energy came back to let her lace her fingers with his. “Ar lath ma, Solas, ma’isha.”

“And I, you.” The smile he gave her, so carefree and light, was worth everything.


	8. (NSFW) Fen'harel Hunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicitly NSFW, dom!Solas, roleplay, pretend dubcon, blowjob, rape play

The breath in his lung was harsh, like daggers, a welcomed sensation in the cool night air. Feet drummed a steady rhythm on the craggy earth, sparse with grass and strewn thoroughly with rocks that sought to hamper him. Nothing would. Not pain, not exhaustion; he had his sights set on the stream of white hair in front of him and nothing, nothing, would stop him from this hunt, from claiming what was his and his alone.

The wolf hungered and he would be fed.

Solas bared his teeth, a macabre grin that was the flash of canines. He was the hunter now and no mere scrap of a woman would elude him. Strength was poured into the muscles of his legs, gaining on her. Even in the nights’ darkness he saw her glance back, those beautiful blue eyes widening at just how close he had gotten. Her stride was clumsy, the gait of prey, moving over unfamiliar terrain. Where she was leading him there was no chance for escape.

Oh yes, she would be his and he would feast upon her.

The statues of the ruinous Bath House beckoned them closer, dark cavern a false hope. A growling laugh grew in his chest like a wolf’s howl, triumph and hunger all in one. The step of his stride changed, running now on his toes and the ball of his feet, a burst of speed that had him hot on her heels. He was so close now, he could almost taste her on his tongue, feel her in his hands and the pulse of her throat in his mouth.

It was at the top of the first flight of stairs down into darkness that he caught her. No chance to stop, to slow, and they went tumbling down the stairs. She still fought him even then, twisting in his hold until they hit the landing, breath knocked from both of them. The inert forms did not remain so for long, and soon she was thrashing in his grip, kicking feet, clawing at the cloth on his arms, twisting like a snake in his grasp.

Solas held strong, his grin broadening with the struggle. His cock throbbed in the confines of his breeches, scorching along the pathways of nerves, fed by his endeavor and the smell of her – leather, old blood, the faint hint of vanilla mixed with feminine essence. Flailing arms were captured in his grasp, the bite of his fingers at each wrist and he twisted them behind the woman’s back. Pressed her down into the dirty stones and decaying leaves as she yet continued to fight like a demon.

He could not wait to partake.

It was the sound of his voice that stilled her finally. “Did you truly think you could run from me?” Smooth like silk that wrapped around a diamond edge, cutting through the eventide. Smirking lips pressed to the tip of an ear, his tongue dipping in, tracing the whorls. That little sound she made, his cock twitched, straining to be let loose. “Was it to protect your Clan? Lead the Dread Wolf away from them? Foolish girl… You were the prize all along.”

The thin flesh of an earlobe was nipped, voice at her ear like a lover’s caress. “I caught your scent, huntress, and I fully intend to consume you.” His laugh was low and menacing, the soft body under his shuddering.

“I will never submit to you, Dread Wolf.” She spat, eyes blazing and dark, pupils so wide they could have been the night sky.

“We will see about that.” Solas shifted her wrists to one hand, the other undoing the belt at his waist. The struggle started anew when the ‘thwip, thwip’ of the leather coming free reached her. He merely leaned into her, pressing her chest against the ground and leaving her little air. “You will be praising my name by morn.” The long length of the belt looped around her arms, from elbow to wrist, securing her. She wouldn’t run, not now.

Fingers eagerly delved into the cloth and leather she wore, tugging at buckles and knots. The pale woman fought him still, cursing him and writhing beneath him. It did not stop him and soon he had his hands on her skin, calloused palms cupping the smooth weight of her breasts. Her breathe turned to a whine, trying to arch away from him, or into him, he was not sure and did not care. The Dread Wolf squeezed and groped, plucking and pulling at her nipples until her voice turned from cursing to ragged moans.

“Good girl,” He crooned, turning his face into her neck, the smell of vanilla stronger in her wild tresses. Her whimpered obscenity turned to a keen when his teeth found a hold on her pulse. It thrummed wild under his tongue like a wild bird in a cage. A growl was pulled from his chest as he bit down harder, turning away from the spot to leave more marks down the breadth of her skin. “You taste so sweet on my tongue, my huntress.” Those claiming marks would bruise and all would know she was his. His, and his alone.

His gaze turned away from the soft flesh he held, hooking digits into the band of her armor’s shorts, pulling them down and off her. The sight of her, half-clothed and yet bare to him made him growl yet again, this time in yearning. It was the smell of her that made him moan, thick on the air, coating his tongue without even tasting her yet. “You’re enjoying this.” The Dread Wolf wrenched her thighs apart, baring the soaked folds of her sex. “Did you enjoy being my quarry, huntress? Is this what you were hoping for?”

“Fuck you!”

He laughed as he flipped her onto her back, keeping her legs apart with his body. “No, my dear, it is you who shall be fucked.”

Before she could retort he pressed his fingers against her clit, the bud standing firm already. The movement of his hand was sure and steady mixed with pinches. Profanities turning into cries, hips rocking against his touch. The Wolf abandoned her clit to sink three fingers into her quim, growling at how easily they slid into her with a wet, obscene squelch. She was fucked with his fingers, a callous plundering, while her juice pooled in the palm of his hand, the scent of her arousal clouding his mind.

His free hand fumbled with the laces of his trews, eager to relieve the pressure on his cock. There would be no pleasure from his own touch, he would only find that buried so deep within his prey. He sighed with no small relief when he was freed, shoving the rest of the green fabric down to his knees. There would no more waiting, he decided, he would have her now.

The fluid in his palm was used to coat his cock, hardly needed but he grinned when she noticed the motion of his hand and the size of him. Eyes grew far wider when she was dragged into his lap and the protest on her tongue was replaced with a wail when he speared into her. He drove as deep into her cunt as he could, hips pressed against hips. His huntress was so sopping wet around his cock he could feel her essence trailing down his balls and thighs already.

The first pump of his hips she shattered around him on a perfect note – raw, intense and absolutely delicious. It was such that he almost joined her. No, he intended to consume every part of her and that is what he would do. He had to pull from him, forcing her back onto her stomach and pulling her ass into the air. “You are mine.” Solas growled it into the small of her back, yanking her back onto his cock, one hand gripping her ass.

Hard thrusts, far from loving, that made her bottom smack against his hips, her breasts bouncing in their loosened armor. She was gasping for air around her wails, face buried in the stone. His lovely huntress was rolling her hips back against him, meeting him for every punch of his cock into her cunt, trembling around him. Fingers were digging bruises into the flesh of her hip and he couldn’t help but bury his teeth into the smooth curve of her waist, where hip turned inward.

How many times she came undone on his cock was lost to him, even as he crooned sweet praise to her. His huntress was spent, mewling helplessly as he slid to the root once more. This was not where he would find his own release. Fingers sank into the tangled and wild white hair at the base of her neck, using the chunk as a hold on her. She was kept pressed into the ground as he pulled from her, coated thickly in her cum, thin strings breaking as he gained his feet.

The elvhen woman was forced to her knees before him, her head level with the swollen length of his cock. She offered no resistance to him, even licked her dry and chapped lips at the sight of him. The Dread Wolf merely placed the blunt, wet tip at her mouth and she took him in. His groan was guttural, the pressure at the base of his spine near breaking. The movement of her head was guided by the hand at her neck, pushing her fore and back at his whim.

He pressed her further, testing her, until her lips were at the skin of his groin, his cock in her throat. The sensation, the sight, was the final crack in his control. Rapture swept through his body like a storm, his cum shooting down his huntress’ throat into her belly. He had enough mind to pull her off, the last few stripes of seed landing on her cheek.

Air was daggers again in his lungs, the strength in him gone, sinking to the ground. The grip on pale tresses let go, the belt removed from her arms. His lover grinned through her euphoria, embracing him, kissing him happily.

“Thank you, Solas,” Thema nuzzled against him, mindful not to smear the cum on her cheek. “That was… amazing…”

“I feared I had gone too far at some points.”

“Perfect.” She kissed him again. “Do you want to do that again sometime?”

The mage collected her in his arms, laying back on the stone floor. “We will speak about it later. For now… we should rest and clean ourselves before heading back to the Dalish Camp.”

They didn’t make it back until the morning, the Inquisitor gleefully leaving her neck bared to show off the marks there while Solas tried to maintain his dignity, ears permanently pink.


	9. (NSFW) Bitter Flavored Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-explicit sex, choking?, dom!Solas with some sass

The Crossroads were a bigger mess than she could have expected. She should have known, the representation presented in the format of a game could only show so much. The sight of blood and gaping wounds, the smell of unwashed bodies, emptied bowels and spent magic, were woefully absent from a pixelated view. If only she could go back to that view and not this one, being stuck in the middle of all this conflict, expected to lead all to some sort of glorious ending.

Thema had escaped while Cassandra was occupied and Solas healed the wounded, running past the Inquisition camp to the abandoned fields. By the time she got there she was panting, unused to the thick leather armor and the distance… ugh, if the Hinterlands was five times the size she knew it to be than journeying across Fereldan and Orlais was going to be a monumental pain in the ass.

She plopped down on a rock, bow laying across her lap. What a useless thing it was for her. Give her some better protection for her hands and she could punch a Mage or Templar to death - possible but not probable, death at her hands was not something she’d come to terms with yet - but a bow? She could barely draw the thing, it was more of a fancy accessory.

Truthfully, she’d rather be here in the Crossroads helping people, than heading to Val Royeaux to deal with pompous Chantry clerics and the demon-leader of the Templars. If she didn’t punch someone there it would be a miracle. Thema had been chewing on the recruitment of Sera and Vivienne, yet unsure if she even wanted the second one. The first might drive her up the wall but was far more manageable than the other.

Thema kept pondering the situation, only faintly aware of the dimming light, until the padding of feet broke her out of her thoughts. Of course…

“Hello, Solas.” Dislike was still there, even after a shared bottle of wine and a few hours in bed together. Well, she didn’t want to tear his face off, so that was progress.

The mage came to a still near her, not joining her at her seat, but within arms reach. He looked tired, dried sweat on his brow and the scent of elfroot smothering his leather and cloves. His staff was absent, most likely left in whatever hovel they would be sheltering in that eve, and he had shed the outer layers of his armor. For helping the healers and doing some healing himself that he was still on his feet was…

He had her respect in that moment at least.

Until he opened his damn mouth. “Shirking your duties, ‘Herald’?” Storm colored eyes glanced at her. “Or did you intend to help by staring at the weeds until they submitted?”

Oh ho ho… “Asshole.” Thema spit back. “I don’t have to prove or tell you anything about what I’m doing.” Scratch that about not wanting to tear his face off anymore.

There was that goddamn smirk that she wanted to wipe off his face. “Cassandra was asking where you were. I informed her that you were gathering elfroot for the healers.” Fucking bastard! “You are quite welcome.”

She nearly growled, surging to her feet to get into his face. “I didn’t ask you to cover for me so don’t act like I owe you something.” Shit… getting this close to him, when he clasped his hands behind his back like that… It made her very aware of just how tall and broad he was. Underneath that sweater of his he was corded, wiry muscle, deceptively strong and enduring…

Heat was gathering in her cheeks just as it was gathering between her legs. The sex that night had been damn good, almost mind blowing if not for the alcohol. He had been relentless, hands everywhere, and could have gone all night if that same alcohol hadn’t started to affect their stomachs. Two bottles of wine did not sit easy on empty stomachs with vigorous activity.

A lone finger broke her out of her thoughts. The calloused, feather-light tip traced the line of her jaw and under her chin. With the tilt of his head he slotted his hand around her throat, gentle pressure on her windpipe. He was testing her, trying to see if she’d explode in anger, but there was merely a rush of heat and dampness between her legs. She must have made a sound for his eyebrows rose and his eyes darkened.

More pressure to her neck forced her backwards, Solas guiding her, until she could go no further for the boulder at her back. Thema was turned around with a murmur that she should brace herself.

It was no loving affair, the necessary items of clothing undone or moved out of the way. He rooted his cock to the hilt in her, hand upon her ass, and only waited for her to adjust before fucking into her. Thema didn’t care, moaning her pleasure into the stone under her cheek, pushing back against him and demanding more, harder, faster.

The drag of his teeth down her neck before biting spurred her on faster to her climax, the little grunts he made were quite pleasing. They wouldn’t last long, not with the way he was starting to falter in his rhythm, and the way he was stimulating her clit with fingers and magic. When they did tip over the edge they did not bother with holding or any sign of affection.

It had no place in their mockery of a relationship, and Thema was sure it never would. She merely watched him fix himself up, trying to get her breathing under control again, in the evening light. Her stomach was starting to gurgle and demand food, and sleep was sounding good.

Her plan of returning to the Crossroads was dashed by that smug elvhen bastard as he walked away.

“Don’t forget the elfroot.”


	10. (NSFW) Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill from tumblr. One night stand between Thema and world-famous musician/artist Solas. NSFW!

One night stands had been something she had thought she’d grown out of. They were the youthful mistakes of too much alcohol mixed with hormones and a carefree attitude. Such things didn’t belong in the life of a thirty-two year old, yet… she was sitting at the end of her bed watching a man getting dressed, the mark of her nails on his shoulders and the imprint of his teeth on her breasts. Thema couldn’t bring herself to even care that she barely knew the man, the satisfied ache between her legs a pleasant ending to the wine consumed the night before.

An ache that was becoming rapidly unsatisfied.

“You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?” It was Saturday, a rather beautiful day outside with little in the way of clouds and just warm enough not to need a jacket. Spring had finally arrived in Orlais. 

The man looked back at her, fingers pausing in zipping up his pants. Those stormy blue eyes looked her over, taking in the t-shirt she wore over an old pair of panties, then down the length of her legs. He seemed to ponder, pick apart her words, before coming a conclusion. “No, I don’t.” 

Thema smiled and pushed herself off the bed. “Good.” Fingers hooked into the band of pants and briefs, pushing them down. “I’m Thema, by the way.” She smoothed the palms of her hands over his thighs, delighting in the muscle there, and up over the slight curve of his hips. 

“Solas.” He slid his own hands under the short, white t-shirt, finding the dip of her waist and then the swell of her ass. 

 

The man was a mage, she soon found out. His magic kept them both able to go round after round without tiring. She both blessed and cursed his ability throughout the day.

It was mid-afternoon and they had moved from bedroom to kitchen to the sun room. They had nearly christened every surface they could; making something for lunch had been interesting as he’d fucked her slow against the counter. She was so, so glad she had asked him to stay.

Now he laid stretched out on the sun-warmed couch, one hand playing in the multi-colored stands of her hair, while she lavished his cock with her attention. Soft kisses trailed up the underside, the hot length cradled in her hands, tongue rolling over the weeping tip. He tasted bitter and male on her tongue, a perfect counterpoint to the chocolate fudge cake they’d had with their lunch. The dessert had sparked a small debate over just which sugary confection was the best, a teasing conversation she had never had with any other one night stand. 

Thema slipped him into her mouth, moaning softly at the weight of him on her tongue, the way he stretched her lips. There was an echo above her, the fingers stroking her tresses now tangling in them. She loved to do this, holding the center of a man’s pleasure in between her lips, but she doubly enjoyed doing it to him. Why, she was not sure, and only shrugged it off. The bob of her head was slow and lazy, pulling off periodically to pepper the spit-slick length of him with suckling kisses and the exploration of her tongue. 

She watched him as she worshiped him, taking in the contours of his face as he reveled in the sensations. He had closed his eyes, hiding the violet-shattered storms, long lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. There was a little bit of jealousy, how men always seemed to have such beautiful eyelashes, and his were no exception especially in color. Dark brown at the root and fading to amber at the tips. Below them his cheeks were pink, his freckles standing out across the bridge of his nose, and it reached back to the pointed tips of his ears. His lips… they were bitten red, slightly swollen, from both his own teeth and hers. 

Thema knew what those lips could do if Solas put his mind to it. The thrumming between her legs grew at the memory of his head buried there, the skill of his tongue joining the sin of his lips. Her gaze trailed down his neck, smirking just a little at how his adam’s apple bobbed, and to his chest. Broad of shoulder for an elf, a strong chest and enough definition in his abdomen that her tongue could get lost there. It tapered to a slim waist and hips wide enough for the bubble butt he had. A butt that was nice and firm when she grabbed it while they had sex, something he seemed to enjoy and reciprocated. 

She was sure that he had left a bite mark on her ass.

Thema had ribbed him earlier about his looks and that he could make it in the porn industry. He had seem half amused and half exasperated at her, shaking his head. 

The elf’s hips were rocking against her mouth, gentle undulations over her tongue she matched with hand and head. His fingers found the tip of her ear and rubbed it between the pads of his fingers, stroking along the edges. She moaned, toes curling in the fabric of the couch, the vibrations feeding into the flesh of him. It twitched, flooding her mouth with more of his sweetly bitter taste. 

“Thema...” His hand left her ear alone, cupping her neck and urging her up. Following his guidance to where he wished her, their mouths coupled as he settled her on his hips. Pressed up into her in a languid glide, her body welcoming wanting. Their tongues danced in mimicry of the movement of their bodies. 

It was slow and lethargic, neither in a rush to find completion, but to enjoy each other. Where warning bells should be there was nothing for Thema. 

Afternoon faded into evening as they stayed joined, every small crest of pleasure building to the peak. When they tipped over the edge it was together and in the aftermath they lay there, lazy kisses and the leisurely glide of fingers over skin. 

Solas didn’t use his magic this time. His voice was heavy with something like regret when he untangled himself from her. “I have to go.” 

She merely nodded and hid her disappointment with a small smile. “Alright. You can use the shower if you want. Towels are in the hall closet.” Even through this new feeling she had to admire his ass as he walked away, even gave him a small wolf whistle. The little smirk he threw her helped her laugh.

While he showered and dressed Thema dozed on the couch. If she hadn’t scarred the neighbors yet with the free show on the couch she doubted her naked form would. The sinking sun was warm on her skin and it was easy to slip from dozing into a light sleep. 

Sometime later a soft touch on her hair started to rouse her, the press of lips to her temple. A farewell was whispered, the glide of fingers on her cheek, and then he was gone. By the time she fought to the surface the sound of his car was a fading murmur. 

But he had left something on the coffee table for her. A piece of paper wrapped around something. ‘Thema, I would like to see you again. This time a proper date. Please call me if you would like to join me for dinner and dancing.’ Underneath the spidery scrawl was a phone number. The thought of seeing him again was both frightening and elating. A risk that she would take. 

Fingers plucked the item out of the folded paper, staring in shock at a ticket to a concert. The name printed in bold letters in the center had her jaw on the floor. “Oh my… sweet Maker...” 

Thema made a bolt for her cell phone, nearly tripping in her mad rush. A quick search on the internet confirmed that it was the same person and then she was dialing Josephine. “Josie! Do you remember that jazz guy you were going on and on about? Yea, him! I just fucked him all day.”


	11. Turn of the Tide

It was in Val Royeaux - where she had nearly been dragged by the ear by Cassandra - that she started to treat Solas as more of an ally than an enemy. It may have been the nights spend together, or just that he knew what she really was and where she was from. After ‘Lord Seeker Lucius’ left through the enormous crowd - many times larger than what she’d expected - she had grabbed Solas by the arm and dragged him out of the market square.

The ‘thwack’ of Sera’s arrow was ignored, and she merely shouted at Varric to grab it. Cassandra had sputtered about how this was not the time for dalliances but did not stop the pair.

Solas, for the most part, was pliant to her dragging him up the stairs to the upper levels. With the focus in the square with the Chantry Mothers and the Templar's the balconies were empty. When they reached a safe spot she realized just how hard her grip had been in her anger. Thema patted the spot awkwardly, unwilling to apologize out loud just yet.

She leaned back against the stone railing, grinding her teeth. “Lord Seeker Lucius is an Envy Demon.” It was spat out, anger curdling the words. There was some surprise on Solas’ face so he must have sensed something was off. “Corypheus plans to use the Templar's in his army of Venatori by feeding them red lyrium.”

This time there was surprise. “You know of this?” The ancient elf stared at her, possibly going over the encounter on the bridge. “From your... game?” He had taken that explanation rather well, all things considered. Describing it as a shared dream with hundreds of thousands of people had been a good move.

“Yes.” Thema pushed off the railing, hands clenching and unclenching. She wished she had punched that thing in the face and shown the truth to everyone. “I’m not going to turn my back on the mages, I will help them. What’s going on in Redcliffe needs to be stopped. I just...”

Now she started pacing, anger and indecision growing. “Save the mages, save the Templar's... either way one group gets taken by that bastard. I don’t know! I want to split forces and save them both, neither deserves what’s coming and I-I-I...” Her hands were in her hair, tugging hard on the long strands. Breathe was becoming labored, nearly on the verge of hyperventilating.

Every damn moment of every day she felt like she was having to weigh lives and make decisions that were way beyond her scope or capability. Knowing what was coming and what could be done, but having to choose one side or the other was a curse. She’d rather know nothing at all! Thema wanted to scream, to cry, to lop off her hand and run. Run until she just couldn’t anymore and bury herself in a hole and stay there.

Her cancer on Earth seemed trivial next to all of this.

Everything felt like it was pressing in on her, the walls of the market were looming over her, tears streaming down her face and air... she couldn’t breath! She was hyperventilating now, she could feel it in the strain on her chest, the weight in her lungs but she could. not. breath! Everything was shaking, spinning and there was screaming in her ears.

Screaming that was shouting, her name wrapped in fear. The shaking the hands gripping her arms. “...ema! The...!” It took too much energy to focus on the face in front of her, blurry through the tears. “Thema! Focus on me, come out of your mind.”

A voice, a voice, a familiar, now soothing voice that gave her anchor in the panic. She tangled her fingers in the jacket of his armor, the coarse wool giving her something else to concentrate on. His features were becoming clearer, but she still couldn’t breath.

“That’s it, Thema. Look at me.” One of his hands, calloused and firm, cupped her tear and sweat stained cheek. “Now... breath... breath with me. In... out... in... good, Thema. Keep breathing with me.”

Her hands in his jacket could feel the rise and fall of his chest, deep breaths to give her something to follow. “Feel the ground... the fabric rustling against your skin...” Still, he kept steady, deep breaths, his hand on her cheek another grounding sensation.

The knots in her muscles were coming undone, weight lifting out of her lungs, and the walls around her retreated. There was solid ground under her feet. All at once she sagged into the mage, into arms that were waiting for her to do so, and fresh tears came forth. Not tears of panic, but the released tears of stress and burden. It was nasty, her nose running and wracking sobs but he let her bury her head in his chest.

“That’s it... let it out, Thema. You are not alone in this burden. There are others willing to help you if you let them, others who... understand... what you are going through.”

Was it an olive branch? Still yet too early to tell on this journey but his words were what she needed. They had sunk to the ground as she cried and she took full advantage of it. His lap was claimed, the Herald curling up against his chest, hands still knotted in his armor. Solas’ heartbeat was under her ear and it was frantic against his breastbone. Had he been scared?

“We will not return to the others until you are ready. Take your time, let it out.” His voice was steady, soothing, almost affectionate. The mage’s hand stroked her hair, the other around her waist to support her. “There is no rush.”

“No rush at all, da’fen.”


	12. (NSFW) That's How We Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning!: NSFW, sexting, sex photos, public sex, voyeurism, solo!Solas, solo!Thema, implied solo!Cullen
> 
> Written as a follow-up to @bearlytolerable ‘s Flash, and as my 100th post on Tumblr. My Tumblr account is thema-sal-shiral if anyone is interested

It started with their reunion date. Not one that had gone very well. They had to leave dinner early as the conversation became arguing about their break up and issues of trust and only wanting to get back together for sex. The pair of elvhen had been a spectacle for passersby and even had the police ask them to move on. A few weeks had passed before they broke the silence and actually sat down and discussed what they wanted from each other now.

After that…

Well, they were still amazing in bed together and had quite a lot of time to make up for.

The were memorable ones, such as the first time they’d been apart since making up.

Thema had found an album hidden away in the end table that was now hers. They hadn’t yet moved in together, preferring to have their own space just in case. The album - red in color and made from leather - was full of pictures. Oh her. Her eyebrows had tapped her hairline as she thumbed through them, taking in the still images of her in poses that showed off her assets. He must have taken them when she wasn’t aware of it for spank material, and in the back were ones from the modeling shoot. The wet patch in her panties, a picture of her ass…

She had said nothing, content to let Solas think she was unaware of it. Oh, she wasn’t upset over it, quite pleased actually. There were times that the thought he’d gotten off over these pictures were fuel for her own private fun. Ideas raced through her mind but none came to fruition until he had to leave for work. A three week trip to Antiva to take photos for the Antivan Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet, as her sister had her debut ball.

A few days after he left, after the feeling of loneliness receded some, did she really use those ideas.

It started off innocent, a few ‘I really miss you in my bed’ type messages and then got racier. A trip to a lingerie store ended with quite a few pictures of her being sent to him and getting lustful replies in return. He started sending her a few, shirtless and sweaty after his morning jogs in the Antivan heat, naked in the bath. She saved them all, amping up her own replies with more lascivious descriptions of what she’d do to him when he was home, and her own naked pictures.

The cream of the crop was a series of images sent from the front seat of the gold chrome Aston Martin. Her, naked but for a piece of cloth under her to save the leather, pleasuring herself. Fingers teasing her clit, buried in her wet cunt, spreading the lips of her sex so he could see just how much she missed him.

His reply took nearly an hour and it was a phone call instead. Voice rough and shattered in his chest, detailing everything he planned on doing to her the moment he was through the door. It was followed up by a photograph of his abdomen, sweat slick and covered in the strings of his cum, pooling in the dip of his muscles. Cock laid across his hip, still hard, with a pearl of seed at the tip.

Solas made good on all his promises, and Thema couldn’t walk the few days after (and really, Solas was wobbling when he made it out of bed).

The second one they managed to scar a security guard in the high-rise she lived in.

That night they were to join friends on a dinner date; Dorian and his fiancee Mika’il, and Cassandra and Leviathyn. A relaxed couples night out at a not-quite-so-fancy bistro in the heart of Montsimmard. Solas wore a three-piece suit anyway, having done some work earlier in the day and not changing. She wore a black number with a low back and flowing skirt with pumps, and went light on the makeup that night.

The couple was fashionably late as the elevator decided to stop for no reason between floors.

The security guard on duty that evening spoke to them through the speaker, letting them know that maintenance should be there soon but not to hold their breath. Thema was grumbling under her breath about it not being the first time this had happened and that she was seriously considering moving out of this crappy high-rise.

Solas had taken her into his arms with the intent to calm her, his cheek laid against hers. He’d been distracted by the thought of asking her to move in with him - plenty of room, she was usually there anyway, her things so mixed in with his already. The slow gyration of her hips against his wasn’t even noticed until she really started to grind back against him.

It had only taken a whispered suggestion and her sinking to her knees in front of him to get him on board with the idea. The red of her lipstick - Velvet was the shade, he dimly recalled - was left in smears and prints over the veins of his manhood. Her fingers teased his balls and the skin behind it until he had hands buried in her hair, guiding her over his cock.

The photographer had to pull away, refusing to cum in her mouth. He bent her over, guiding her hands to the cheap wood laminate that decorated the sides of the space. Exploration found no underwear under her skirt, lust punching him right in the spine, and she was so wet just trailing a finger over the lips of her sex coated his digit thoroughly. He would never get over how sucking his cock could arouse her so much.

His jacket was shed, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, just to see her eyes darken. He gave her just a little scolding for the lack of undergarments, hand tapping the curve of her ass lightly. There had nearly been a snarl for that (spanking was not and never would really be her thing) but it was lost in the keen when he sheathed himself in her, sopping wet and squelching around him.

It had been hurried and messy, climaxes hammered out with bruising thrusts.

Not a few minutes after they righted themselves, dirty tissues shoved into her purse and remnants of her lipstick still on his cock, the security guard’s voice squeaked through the speaker. Maintenance was almost done and they should be moving again soon. The man on the other side fumbled over his words, his voice thicker than they remembered.

That was when Thema tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the camera in the corner. She was turning a nice shade of red, and Solas politely told the guard that if that particular recording wound up on the internet there would be hell to pay. 

Soon they were on their way, hand in hand, to celebrate life with friends.

Thema never could get that security guard to look her in the face again without him turning bright red and his voice breaking.


	13. Mourning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet that propels into the future, without spoilers, of Thema and Solas' relationships, close to the end of DAI.
> 
> Lots of angst.

Their journey was starting to come to an end.

In a few short days, they would travel to the Arbor Wilds to secure the Vir’abelasan. Everything that could possibly have been done had been to secure a brighter future for Thedas. Even knowing what was to come.

She hadn’t slept that night, tossing and turning under thick blankets until they were a knotted mess about her legs. Staring at the ceiling counting stones had done nothing, pacing before the fireplace had done even less and left her feet cold. Hair had been tugged on, now reaching past her hips, until her scalp ached. Tired yet almost manic in energy, mind racing over every decision made in the past and yet to be made.

Eventually, she had returned to the bed, straightening the sheets and blankets before slipping under them.

Solas had remained soundly asleep during all this, something she was grateful for. Maybe tonight was a night he had set aside fade-walking to actually sleep. There had been quite a few fights over that, as he considered Dreaming to be sleep and her not so much. They had come to an agreement that if he just tried it once, to let dreams come naturally in fog and haze, and it was as restful as his Dreaming, she would not speak of it again.

He had slept for five days, waking only for food and natural urges. Her wolf had been a tad upset with her, but seeing the darkness around his eyes fade some, and how he was more playful, patient, was worth it. So now he rotated between fade-walking and true sleep.

Her lover slept on his stomach, head turned to her side of the bed, arms under his pillows. The sheets had dragged down to his thighs for her movements, but the chill in the air didn’t seem to bother him. Thema reached to pull them up but lost her fingers in the lines of his back.

Soft skin over strength in sinew and muscle, the faded scars from ages past and new ones from this era. Not as skinny as he’d been when they first started this journey, a healthy layer of fat on his ribs. Digits stroked and caressed, the angle of a shoulder blade, the knots of his spine between them, the dimples above his buttocks and the sparse scattering of freckles over his shoulders.

How much longer would she be able to do this? Once the Vir’abelasan was claimed their time would be numbered. He would leave once Corypheus was banished, it wouldn’t matter if she saved the Orb or not. The dedication and stubbornness he carried, small parts of why she loved him, almost made her hate him at times. He listened to her concerns, but she knew he hadn’t changed his mind. Their love would come second place to his guilt and self-loathing, the self-sacrifice he felt he had to make to correct mistakes so long ago made.

Only once did they reach the point of raised voices and shouting. She had brought Mythal into the argument and after that one name, everything fell apart. Both too stubborn to apologize for a week after, until she couldn’t take it anymore and went to his room off the rotunda, wrapped in a blanket and missing him. No words had been said as they made up for lost time.

Thema stroked the sharp angle of his jaw, a soft sigh leaving her love. She would etch the contours of his face into her memory, how he smiled, how he laughed, the face he made whenever she tried to get him to drink even chamomile tea, everything he was would be carved into her memory.

Sex was growing less and less important, and time spent together doing anything more and more so. Memories of domestic bliss to carry them through time apart, when their heart would be so far away from them.

That’s what he was to her: her heart. It was cracked and bleeding already, cupped in his hands, and she held his so tight to her chest. Unwilling to relinquish for anything, unable to let the coming darkness consume the man she loved.

The elvhen woman scrubbed at her face to erase the tears starting. No, there would be no crying. He was still here and she would not let that time be wasted in sorrow. Not as the morning light peeked over the Frostbacks, pale yellow through the rainclouds, crawling across his skin. 

Sheets were pulled over his sleeping form and she curled against him, legs thrown over his hips as they always were, and finally, she slept.


	14. (NSFW) Sanguine Dew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Hushed Whispers, Thema's pivotal moment in the relationship.
> 
> Body mutilation themes, nsfw, angst and more angst.

The first night, she just stood there staring at the door. Nothing had settled in her mind yet, images crisp and clear from the fold in time. The way everything had felt, tasted… How reality yet again swept the rug out from under her, taking a situation that she thought she had control over and tearing it from her bleeding hands. It was the deepest cut in the perception of the world around her, the people around her, the one that bled the most profusely, that hurt the sharpest.

She stood outside his door, wanting to knock, wanting to just barge in and make sure that everything was OK. That he was alright, that he was himself, not the twisted man she’d doomed to that year of torment just because she was curious. The urges kept her rooted to her spot, fear of these new feelings, of getting attached. Ever since Val Royeaux, everything had started to change. They had become friends, he almost a mentor and her almost a student. They still fought, still threw their opinions at each other’s pigheadedness but they were friends…

It made the guilt she felt all the more sour.

_… his wrist in her hand cracked and shattered, skin splitting to show muscle turned to shards of red lyrium. The horror on her face was matched only by the heave of her stomach, and she had to stagger away to empty it. Solas merely tied a torn piece of cloth over the gaping wounds, no blood left there to be spilled. He watched her, unsure of whether to offer comfort. “We must move quickly, Thema, before Corypheus arrives.”_

_Tears mixed with the sweat on her skin, tainting the taste of bile with salt. How could she have done this? She shouldn’t have brought anyone along at all…_

Hands clenched, nails digging into her skin and bringing forth dew drops of sanguine.

_… Thema watched him as they moved through the remains of Redcliffe Castle. The elf moved now with jerky twitches, time spent in a cell unkind to what remained of his body, and fighting the rigidity of the_ lyrium _. She wanted to cry, to scream, to rend her own eyes from her face. Her mind circled around how this was her fault_

_Her Fault_

**_HER FAULT_ **

_and now Solas and Blackwall suffered for it._

_Dorian had to take her aside to snap her out of it, reminding her that this was not the true future, not the one they would let happen when they reached Alexius. She needed to fight, to channel her sorrow into anger and rage, and let it loose on their enemies._

Thema turned from the hut, shoulders slumped and feet dragging, back to her own corner of Haven. Meeting Solas’ face would be impossible in the coming days.

The next night she was there again, watching the flickering flames through the window. He was at his desk, face in a book, unaware of the woman staring. It was creepy, she knew it was, but once there she couldn’t move. Thank the Maker that after Adan left the apothecary no one came to this part of Haven. They all sat at the Tavern, where songs and chatter could be heard on the wind.

Again she went home without doing anything, and the third night the same.

The fourth night she made herself place her hand above the wood of the door, poised to knock. By now she could see Solas giving her worried looks during the day when he thought she wasn’t looking. She’d avoided him as much as she could to Varric’s amusement.

_There was no avoiding him here in the tight, crumbling halls. Up close she could see the red lacing through his eyes, starting to overwhelm the storm cloud blue, the rips in his skin over cheekbones and jaw. When the debris in the hallways forced them into single file she could hear the_ lyrium _break and rub together in his joints, his legs._

_It wasn’t until Blackwall and Dorian were destroying the Library to find a_ shard _that she touched him again. They stood guard outside though it was not needed. A hug, her face buried in the shattered remnants of his chest, arms tight around his waist. Reciprocation was immediate, his face buried in her graying tresses, hands at the small of her back._

_Just as when they’d faced down the High Dragon and won, the need to feel alive flavored their embrace. Lips dry and cracked mingled, tongues dancing, a mockery of a first kiss, tainted by corruption. His hand clasped her hip, fingers tight, as the other cupped her face. Everything was shifting, dragging to the fore what she had pushed away in Val Royeaux, the emotion that now came with the image of his face, the touch of his fingers._

_She cared for him._

_It was sloppy and hurried, but still, she felt like she was floating on air. The wall against her back that he’d pressed her up against, now slipping a hand into her pants. Breath hitched as the calloused pads found her clit, the wetness of her cunt, and he moaned into her ear. It was the quick twist of fingers, the rhythm of him plundering her warmth while he marked her neck with his teeth… a quick shattering and the bite of nails into his neck._

_He had watched her with regret and fondness, then sorrow when he had to push her hand away from his groin. “I am sorry,_ vhenan _… I cannot feel pleasure anymore.”_

Thema didn’t knock, didn’t bother to introduce herself. The door was pushed open, swinging shut behind her as she marched for his bed.

Solas was propped up, eyes saucers of dark light in the night, one hand full of veil fire before he recognized her. He opened his mouth, likely to ask her why she was here, but she sealed hers over it. Tongue playing over the seam of his lips, teeth nipping at the plush pillow of the bottom one. When his mouth fell open to her plunder it tasted of mint, leaves chewed after dinner meal, and brandy. Her arms wrapped around a strong neck, body pressing down into his delightfully nude one.

His hands drifted to her ass, squeezing gently, their breath quick against their mouths. The lips that had been on hers now drifted to her neck, so soft as to be butterfly wings. It made her tremble in his hold, falling limp against him. The solidity of him, the warmth of his skin, pulled her from the memories of that false future and into the present.

It was a silent promise, as they touched, that she’d never let something like that happen ever.

The worries of what would never come to pass were obliterated in his arms, evaporating like rain on a hot summer day. In moments they were twined together, blazing a new path, a new beginning, with every kiss.

A trust in much more to come.


	15. (NSFW) Glimpse in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definitely NSFW.
> 
> I hate it when you’re taking a nap, daydreaming and working this beautiful little story with the best prose and shit but when you come awake it starts to flutter away. These are the snippets I can remember.
> 
> Premise was that while sleeping Thema experiences a window in time, the last echoes of the time magic from Redcliffe.

… it was only until he kissed her again, longer and far more sweeter that this other her finally moved her legs. The apostate smiled, said something in the dreamy haze and took his seat on the couch. Legs were draped across his lap, a rest for his book and the pair lapsed into what seemed comfortable silence, eyes skimming the words on the pages before them. They stayed like that for a time, before he started to stroke an open hand along the back of her calves, tracing the edging of her new leg wraps, from ankle to knee and back again …

… her mouth was stretched wide around him, some part of her coherent mind shocked that she would lay her mouth upon him like so, as she bobbed her head up and down the steely length of flesh. Solas had fingers tangled in her white hair now, the clenching motion of them scrapping nails along her scalp and down her neck. The other her, future her, released him, lips moving in teasing words before taking him back in and did not stop until her nose was pressed into the meat of his stomach. He started to bow his back before suddenly convulsing, the leg bent against the back of the couch striking out, heel hitting the other armrest, curling forward with torso over her, mouth wide open in what had to have been a shout. The culprit was the hand wrapped about his sac, the crackling energy of the mark lighting her hand from the inside …

… he paused upon the bed, kneeling there by her head. She had taken the position he seemed to want, on her side, back to him. Gentle fingers parted her tresses, cupping the back of her head to guide her to look at him. They exchanged words, a little bit of shame on his features, lust on hers. Whatever they spoke of seemed to come to an agreement as he took himself in hand, veins throbbing along the flesh, and guided himself back to her open mouth. Halfway taken, the mage started to gently fuck her mouth, his free hand caressing the hollow of her cheeks, down her neck and back up to the point of her ear. From here in the haze she could appreciate him, the way his shoulders seemed to hold still but his hips moved on their own in little circles, muscles tensing and flexing in his buttocks, his thighs…

… he had taken her hand, guiding it down her body to where they joined. Fingers split around them, cradling her mound and where he slipped in and out, his own digits laying atop hers. She threw her head back, seemingly overstimulated by the sensation of him both within her and outside of her, and left her neck open to his open-mouthed attentions. They moved slowly together, one of her hands cupping the back of his head, his own holding one of her breasts in its grasp. Even here, where she stood on the sidelines, it felt like she was an invader, but could not look away. Her body there in its bed writhed, echoes of this other her pulsing through her blood. A moan was bitten back when Solas’ movements grew less fluid and started to stutter. He fell from her, wet length resting against her thigh, on one jerk. That future her giggled, teasing him as he flushed. Once he placed himself back within her he dug toes and feet into the bed, no longer using just hips but his legs as well …

… They lay twined together in the aftermath, fluid and sweat washed from their skin. She still teased him, just a little, as her hands traced patterns in the skin of his chest, his hands doing the same to her sides. Always touching, little things or firmer strokes, but always touching. There were kisses as varied as the carresses, calming joinings of lips and tongue until the flush of rapture was gone from their skin. A gesture of a hand lit the candelabras near the bed, and another brought their books from the couch to continue their reading in each others’ arms …

… it brought hope to her that the future would be kind, that this little slip in time after Redcliffe was true of them. She could only hold onto it and work towards it …


	16. (NSFW) Time Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> solo!Solas, masturbation, egg-beating, etc. Thema handjob and some female masturbation as well. 
> 
> Written for a friend and follower on tumblr who just graduated college!

They called it a training exercise at first, then a rescue mission in the Fallow Mire. After recruiting The Iron Bull and the Chargers it was pointed out just how woefully unprepared the Herald was in her weapons. Everyone she brought onto the battlefield paid more attention to their foes than to what she was doing - even Solas - and had not noticed that she tended to avoid the combat unless she could put her fists to use. The bow she’d been given had never been used, the wood still solid, paint uncracked, bowstring intact.

Such a thing needed to be remedied and so Bull had offered Krem’s talents in weapons to train her. Sera and Varric would be less than helpful since one did not use a bow and the other went on instinct. The Council had decided it needed to be done and away from Haven so that none would lose faith in a Herald that could not fight.

Bull, Krem, Varric, and Cassandra headed into the Hinterlands with Thema for a quick and most likely very painful boot camp.

Solas did not care for it one bit and liked being left behind even less. If they needed healing no one would be there to provide it, he had protested and been turned down. Thema’s agreement with him had been overridden by everyone else and many arguments had ensued. In the end, the Council won and he had been left behind.

They were supposed to be gone for five days, and now it was closing in on two weeks. He had been tempted to grab his armor - Dalish armor found in the Hinterlands, he hated it until he saw how his new lover enjoyed the slice of chest it showed off - and the Fereldan Forder to track them down. Caution spoke of suspicion from the others and he did not need that, not right now when his position in the fledgling organization was still suspect. So he stayed, churning the ever present snow in front of his home as he paced, eyes snapping between the Breach and the gates of Haven.

He also missed her, their relationship still new and changing from self-proclaimed enemies to lovers. Now that they acknowledged, even if not verbally, the change - and it was a change that they both should have known would happen - they spoke more, fucked less. She had a million questions about him, about Arlathan, Elvhenan, magic and anything to do with Thedas. The woman would bombard him with a thousand queries in one breath and he would be left scrambling to answer, yet having to admit when he had none for some of them. Her curiosity was one thing he lov- liked about her, the plans she had for the future and the belief she had in him.

That night he couldn’t step into the Fade without attracting the attention of demons, drawn to the worry, anger, and desire in him. Sleep was difficult as dreams plagued his mind. Images of her hurt, of her fighting without him at her back, of nights they’d spent together… It was the last that plagued him the most, caused him to wake covered in sweat and aching.

He dragged a hand over his face, stifling a groan. This was madness, he was far too old for dreams of that nature and to wake with breeches too tight around him. Solas glared at the bulge he was host to before letting his head hit the pillow. If he ignored it, it would eventually leave.

After counting to one hundred seven times he was sure the world was laughing at him. The counting had been derailed with thoughts of her and how delighted she would be to find him hard and wanting, the things she would whisper to him with that little smirk that spoke of danger. This problem wasn’t going away anytime soon and she was not here to help. Fingers hooked in the band of his pants, dragging them down and onto the floor.

His cock laid across his belly, the tip wet with dew and emerging from its hood with a flush of red. He ignored it for the moment, starting instead at his neck, scraping nails over his pulse and down to the hollow of his collarbones. The faint blue of ice formed on his fingertips, causing skin and nipples to pebble as he extended his touch to his chest. She loved to use her nails, something that lit his blood on fire, leaving red marks in their wake that he wore under unassuming clothes. He mimicked her actions, seeing her smile behind his eyelids, drawing flushed paths from collarbone to nipple, the cool ice tempering the sting that made his cock twitch.

Nipples were given the same treatment, the bite of nail mirroring the bite of teeth. Breath was slowly growing heavier, the thought of her doing this to him far more arousing than his own actions alone. Fingers were the tongue that explored his stomach, teasing the edge of his naval, the slope of his hipbones and the bite at his thigh. He sighed her name into the night air, teeth then digging into his lips, taste of blood on his tongue. How many times had they kissed to the point of swollen rawness?

Finally, he touched himself, hips swaying up into the light grasp. It was light, a mockery of a caress, just the pads of his digits tracing every vein, slowly pulling back the hood to expose himself. He trapped his cock between palm and stomach, rolling his hand back and forth gently, moaning louder as hips twitched and jerked. She was still there at the forefront of his mind, her smile wider now with teeth, small soft hands stroking along him. Thema would joke about how she was a ‘size queen’ as she held him in her hands, and that his size was perfect for her, how he hit all the right places.

His free hand cupped his sack, massaging with fingers that danced with lightning, a brief shattering of stars in his sight at the sensation. They sank below his waist to tease at his entrance, stimulating the nerves there, imagining her doing it to him. Blood was running hot in his veins, nerves scorching through his body, and her image was near enough to push him over.

Solas had to stop, letting his hands fall to the thick blanket under him - unneeded with the fire glyphs he used to keep the hut warm - lest he fall too fast. He wanted to take his time, build the pleasure and the pressure until it was overwhelming.

When ardor cooled he took himself in hand again, movement just a little harder now. His cockhead wept, leaving sticky drops on his skin. More paths of red were placed upon hip and shoulder, the pain augmenting the pleasure. He was panting, trying to pull breathe into starving lungs, body moving against the bed like a dancer, and the wood creaked.

It was only that that kept him from noticing the door opening and shutting. The voice cut through it all and had him freezing in place, panicked eyes swinging to the speaker.

“I see you’ve missed me.” Thema stood there, that little smirk on her face that he was growing to love and hate. She was covered in dirt and dust from the road, dirty leggings and tunic, bare feet and eyes like moons where they caught the light. She was a demon of desire, a minx, and beautiful even covered in dirt.

Lust punched him in the spine, the hold of his hand now no longer enough to sate him. “Thema…”

The smirk grew into a smile, flash of teeth in the dark. Clothing was quickly removed, her body bare underneath. He must have moaned for the look she flashed him. Moonlight from the window, the cracks in the wood walls, slid over her body like silk as she moved to him, crawling over him. “I can help with that.”, she crooned. Her fingers slipped under his, taking up the rhythm he’d abandoned.

“I had to see you,” Thema caught his mouth with hers, soothing the bite on his lips with her tongue. He had so missed the taste of her, the sensation of her hair - a few shades lighter, his mind supplied, same with her eyes and skin - in his fingers. “We just arrived and when they finally let me go I came right here.”

“Without panties?” His voice was high and needy, thick in his chest. How she undid him with her touch, as he undid her.

The woman laughed, her hand starting to move faster, slick with his own fluid. “I had to stop behind the Tavern and dispose of them. I was already so wet just thinking about having you…”

Another punch in his spine, lightheaded and feeling like he was floating, aware of nothing else around them but her hand on him. Hips started to buck in earnest, his cock twitching in her grasp. Control slipped through his fingers like water and he could only dig into the flesh of her thighs to feel grounded. Lightning crackled across his skin, building in his pelvis, tense and charged, in his chest and throat. 

She watched him, taking pride in having him fall apart before her, that he now trusted enough to let her have control. Thema traced the length of his ear with her tongue, exulting in the call of her name, and when she came to his lobe, whispered, “Come for me, Solas.”

He broke on a cry, the dam breaking and pulsing outward through bone and sinew. Thick strips of his seed coated his stomach as muscles spasmed and pushed the wave he rode upon. The waves of pleasure, rapture, started to slow with every breath he took and slowly he became aware of his own heartbeat again and the rasp of air in his throat.

Opening his eyes he was greeted with the sight of his lover sitting back on his thighs, hand making lazy movements between her legs. She smiled at him, content in his pleasure even as her own was being built.

“You may want to cast a restoration spell or whatever it is, because it’s going to be a long night, Solas.”


	17. Glitter Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'She stood there in the doorway, soaking wet, bruised and covered in glitter' prompt fill.

Thunder rumbled through the stone of Skyhold, shaking the foundation under his feet. Solas stopped in his bathing and tilted his head towards the ceiling. So the storm that had been lingering on the horizon had finally broken. He let himself smile, enjoying the charge in the atmosphere, the taste of ozone even here, and resumed bathing. Tonight he would sleep, and set aside Fade-walking for the next night, lulled by the lightning and thunder.

Bathing was quickly done, dirty water drained away and replaced with fresh hot water. The plumbing system his love had forced into being built had been finished the week prior and those that had hated the idea and waste of resources were singing it’s praise now. He secretly adored it, the technology a dim reflection of the water works of Elvhenan, but brilliant in this Age in its size and scale.

He relaxed into the water, head lolling on the rim of the tub, lavender buds, jasmine flowers and sandalwood oil swirling around his legs. The sound of thunder was growing louder, his ears twitching and perking with every roll. Fingers stirred the water in lazy circles as his eyes started to droop. He would sleep well tonight even though he was not sharing her bed.

The slam of the door against the stone wall destroyed any peace he’d been partaking of. In the doorway was his love, completely drenched from head to toe, seething like a Dragon with a toothache. “I. am. going. to. KILL HER.” The door was slammed shut, and he winced at the sound of cracking wood.

“Kill who, Thema?” He had a pretty good idea who it was but was slightly distracted when she started to yank clothes off. The sopping wet fabric had molded to every curve and the trail of raindrops down her bare skin made him want to trace the same path with his tongue.

Down, boy.

“Sera.” The rage in her voice would curdle milk. Once divested of her garments she plunked herself right into his bath, ignoring his sigh, and started rummaging through his soaps and scrubs. “That little… UGH… I was having drinks with Bull and when the thunder started I decided to leave.” Finding one she liked she started scrubbing at her skin with the rough washcloth, a storm far more dangerous than the one outside glaring through him.

Every time she dunked the washcloth in the water he was starting to notice little glints of light, all different colors. Was that glitter? A handful of cupped water answered the question that yes, yes it was.

“She ran up right behind and bombed me with this shit!” Now he could see that it was in her hair, and on her skin where she hadn’t been covered by clothing. It had to have been much worse before her trek through the rain, torrential if his ears hadn’t failed him, and it sounded like it even through the stone. “So I fucking chased her ass through the tavern, then the battlements, and the stable. I swear she got Cullen too.”

The more he studied her the more he saw, there was a bruise blossoming on her cheek, a larger one on her shoulder and probably more hidden under the water. His annoyance turned a dangerous edge, eyes narrowing as he reached out, stroking the edges of the markings, healing them. “Did she hurt you?”

Thema shook her head even as she leaned into his touch. “No. I got those from slipping and sliding all over the wet stones.” The washcloth was tossed aside and she started to work the soap into her hair. It was a glittery, foamy mess and as his anger dissipated he found it hard to hold back his laughter at the sight of her. He was tossed a face that spoke of her displeasure, and a snort escaped him.

Finally, she laughed at that, and the anger seemed to leech from her. When everything was done, the tub was emptied yet again - making sure all the glitter went with the water - and filled with more hot water. Oils were added once more and the pair cuddled together.

After a stretch of silence she spoke up again, drawing circles on his chest. “Help me kill her?”


	18. Rosy Poems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill from tumblr: 'On the battlefield they were lethal. Together they melt.'

It was harder writing a book for the Inquisition than it was for Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall was a woman of the people, a commoner raised to new heights, the black sheep among the nobility. For the Inquisitor, they were supposedly a Dalish craftswoman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ascending to reverence through divine providence, yadda yadda yadda…

Varric scratched through what he’d written, forehead resting against his hand. Ugh, telling the truth here - and Thema wanted the truth, not the legend - was going to upset a lot of people and possibly hurt the Inquisition. It was a story that needed to be told though and he would tell it.

Once he could figure out how…

On the other hand, he grinned as he grabbed a new piece of parchment, there was another story he could tell. One that would have Cassandra jumping for joy, and maybe even squeal.

Quill refilled with ink he set to filling the blank sheet with a slightly deviated but still entirely accurate story of romance. Thema and Solas, Inquisitor and Apostate Mage, love born from hate and standing against the tides of war. This would be far better than Swords and Shields, and maybe he wouldn’t need to continue that series.

In Haven, he’d been in a perfect position to watch their relationship unfold, situated between her cabin and his hut. No matter the hour he had been privy to their travel between each other, how it had started out with snarls and glares, yet became something softer and then… Love.

They had become a storm on the battlefield, devastating any who got in their way and if the other became injured… arrow-filled corpses and chunks of frozen flesh would litter the trampled ground of whatever poor bastard made the ultimate mistake. He had seen the same between Hawke and Fenris, two bodies moving as one unit, in tune with the other without needing to see, reading body language and spells, a sight to behold and fear.

Away from bloody ground, they were lovebirds, always touching, sharing kisses when they didn’t think anyone else saw, practically glued at the hip. Around the Skyhold you could usually find one where the other was, mostly Thema taking a nap, working on her papers or just watching her man in the rotunda. If she was training Solas would generally find a reason to go outside, sketching as she danced with new blades. It never interfered with their work, however … well, most of the time.

All of the staff would need more than their own hands to count the times that they had found the pair engaged in more… lascivious matters in dark and shadowed places in the Hold. They usually pretended not to see, but there was a betting pool of where they would wind up next and who might catch them.

They were the closest to soulmates he’d ever seen, and he weaved it into the words and phrases, the rosy poems of lust and love.


	19. Dreams of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Solas teaching one of his children a magic lesson.

Those close to him, especially those that had been in the Inner Circle, teased him mercilessly about how his child had him wrapped around her finger. He failed to see the downside of it all; that the chubby smile, the laughter, and the curly amber locks were all worth it. She was a wish, a gift, he’d never thought he would ever be able to have. Pride welled in his heart every time his daughter mastered a new spell, or really, did anything.

His life was never dull now, between negotiations for land and peace after the Veil came down, caring for Sael’nuven, and a bond mate that was hinting at wanting a second child. Every day brought a new memory that he cherished: a hilarious fishing trip with fish jumping out of their basket and a crying daughter that didn’t want to eat them but adopt them, Thema cradling her in her arms as she fell asleep, seeing The People reclaiming their heritage.

Lessons in magic and the Elvhen language - the proper one -, in reading, writing, arithmetic, and history, were slotted around Councils and meetings with the other nations. He would not leave his daughter’s education in the hands of someone else, not even another Elvhen from Arlathan.

Sael was learning basic elemental magic now that her control was good enough, starting with ice.

Solas smiled, an expression more common nowadays, as she sat before him, hands full of frozen crystals and a look of concentration on her face. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and all over her breeches from playing with Thema, curbing the rambunctious energy before lessons started. Her auburn curls were wild about her freckled face as they escaped their bun and caught on ears slightly too large for her. Tongue was caught between teeth as she focused, a habit her parents tried to break but failed every time.

“Very good, da’len,” He was rewarded with a quick smile for the praise. “Now try to make one crystal.”

“Mk, dadae,” Tongue shifted between teeth, and he had to bite back a snort of laughter at the sight. The magic in her hands faded and they were shaken to get rid of the cold, a sensation she would soon grow used to.

He watched, observing, offering advice when needed and trying not to give into any pout when the magic broke, littering her pants with frozen shards. As time wore on she was getting better, magic like air to his little girl and it made his heart swell with love and adoration to see it. 

The smell of dinner was growing in the air, and Sael’nuven was starting to lose her concentration because of it, eyes a mirror of his own glancing at the door into the Main Hall quite often. She held a solid crystal of a small size in her palms, not the size that was the goal but it was more than enough for the first day. Solas was about to bring the lesson to an end when a door near them slammed open - an argument being carried into the Garden - and made his da’len jump.

Everything seemed to move as if time had slowed. The crystal in her hands careened through the air, propelled by her loss of control, ricocheting off of stone columns and wards. A sense of dread filled his stomach as he watched the now-melted magic hit his bond mate right in the ass, a wet stain spreading through her pants and nearly making her fall over.

Oh, shit.

Both father and daughter stared with wide eyes as mamae, wife, spun around to lock eyes with him. Her face was beet red, hands clamped over her bottom. “SOLAS!”

“Run, dadae!”

He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.


	20. (NSFW) Shock the System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vignette inpsired by TMI Tuesday on Tumblr, someone asked what Thema's secret kink is, which is public sex.
> 
> Fen'harel x Thema, set in Arlathan.

… the masks they wore were pure art. Her own was thin slices of mother-of-pearl, almost as thin as a sheet of paper, formed into the face of a wolf but the texture and look was like that of feathers. His was slices of onyx, again like a wolf, but textured to feel like fur. They were a marvel to behold and she spent some time just exploring the sensation of them under her fingertips. They were also the only thing they were wearing at the moment. Masks were not required in the bath house but those who wished to attend to trysts and affairs often wore them. For the Dread Wolf, hiding his face was a smart idea …

… later she would blame it on the mask, anonymity in this Age giving her the courage to follow through where in another time she wouldn’t. His hand cupped her breast as his tongue danced between her legs, sucking at her clit and fucking her with his fingers. Red grooves lined his shoulders, sharp against tanned skin. Her fingers were buried in the braided brown hair, tugging and gripping as if she’d float away if she didn’t hold on tight. The noise she made was definitely getting attention. Loud sex was to be kept behind closed doors, not in the bath house, and others were staring. Every time she tried to muffle herself he would reach up and pull her hand away …

… Thema was quite grateful that the rush of blood in her ears drowned out the chatter of the Bath House. She could feel the shock, awe, disgust in the magic that flowed over her skin like the wind. Of course, here in Arlathan what she was doing just was not done. Men and women had established roles in sex; men gave pleasure to a woman forsaking his own, and a woman received it. A woman placing her mouth on a man was unthinkable. Yet, here she was, kneeling between Fen’harel’s legs, sucking him off. He was being quite vocal about his pleasure as well, hands tangled in her hair, holding on for dear life just as she had. The attention they got, his unbridled response, made her all the wetter, all the more willing to show off a little. Lascivious attention to his sac and cock, taking him into her throat and licking his seed off his belly, and making sure that they knew she enjoyed doing it …

… After her little show, her lover was more than willing to thank her for it. Face down into the bed-couch-thing, fingers holding onto the suede like fabric as he ruthlessly fucked her from behind. The smack of skin on skin, the sound of his sac hitting her clit and the wet noise of his thrusts into her cunt was obscene and arousing at the same time. She could hardly care less about what anyone else thought about this, he was thoroughly frying every cell in her brain with pleasure. It was a hazy cloud of jumbled words - ‘more, harder, oh god yes YES’ - and sensation heightened through magic, the taste of their sex on her tongue, both of them coated in sweat…

… It wasn’t really all that surprising that they were invited not to come back to that Bath House. They stumbled back to his rooms like a pair of drunk idiots, hands all over the place, kissing, and making, even more, people stare. Maybe, hopefully, the system had been shaken up enough that people may try some new things …


	21. Heart of a Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DWC Prompt on Tumblr: Be a veterinarian for dragons, they said. How the fuck do you take care of a wolf?

She knew how everything had started, but not how it had gotten to the point it was at.

Hers had been a calm life, one of the usual upsets but nothing huge that was life-changing. College was normal, her job a bit less so. Going into the veterinarian field specializing in Dragons had seemed fun and interesting – which it was – but actually working with them? Thema was thankful she lived above the main office in a little apartment for the whelp-lings needed twenty-four-hour care. Every day she trudged back into the apartment with burnt patches, vomit, and tears in her clothes.

It was something she adored doing and wouldn’t trade for another job.

One night, just as she had gotten done with the three am rounds of feeding there had been a pounding on the front door. Cursing under her breath she’d found Cole at the door. The twitchy young man was covered in blood and immediately started dragging her to the open trunk of his old station wagon. He was babbling about something, but it fell on deaf ears when she saw what was in the back.

“Cole, you know that I do dragons? Not wolves!” The beast was in bad shape, breath labored and lacerations lacing through the thick auburn fur. It had gotten into a fight with something and had barely won. Her heart went out to it and she knew before Cole even swung his big, baby blue eyes to her that she was going to have one hell of a night.

It took both of them and a huge blanket to get the wounded animal into an operating room. The wolf was big, far bigger than she thought he – a quick glance for the gender – would be. She had never heard of a wolf that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with an Elvhen. X-rays, an IV with anesthesia, and all the tools she’d need were procured. Without a second thought, her hand landed on a muzzle that would protect them if the wolf came awake before the IV went in, only to be cut short by Cole’s words.

“He won’t bite, he’s not that kind of wolf.” There was a warning, a daggers’ edge in his words that made her freeze, heart beating a staccato at the coldness of his face. Dropping the muzzle back into the drawer, his face returned to normal, fingers stroking the fur under them.

Thankfully, the wolf didn’t wake when his leg was shaved and the needle inserted. She worked diligently through the early morning hours, closing wounds, setting the broken back leg, removing the bear’s tooth from his left lung. When the other staff started trickling in she had just finished the last stitch and stumbled back to sit on an overturned bucket. Her hands hurt and the surgical gloves were covered in blood, shoulders finally letting go of all the tension, and the mask she wore over her mouth was damp and clingy, disgusting but no energy left to change it.

Cole, thank the stars for him, finished everything up and somehow moved the large beast on his own into one of the recovery boxes connected to an outdoor pen. He dealt with the others wanting to know how a wolf came into their care and got her cleaned up, nearly carrying her as well up the stairs to her apartment. She needed to sleep, he said, and he would take care of the whelp-lings since she saved his friend.

Sleep had never been sweeter.

The weeks after that had been interesting. Taking care of the wolf had been left to her, and at first, they did not like each other. Grumpy was one way to describe the wolf after he woke up, and the attitude he had was almost hilarious to her. Unused to dealing with canines, she barely dealt with him outside of food and check ups. When she saw Cole in the pen, reading to the canine from the latest installment of Hard in Hightown she saw how he listened, seeming to read the pages as Cole spoke.

Thema was intrigued and around her main duties, started to spend a bit more time in the pen. At the start, she got the cold shoulder, but he slowly came near until he was laying by her side, pressed up against her. He was quite beautiful as well, the auburn coat had white and black mixed in, and his blue eyes were shattered with violet and silver, and she crooned over it. The baby talk seemed to embarrass him but his tail wagged just a little bit. As he became stronger she spent more and more time with him, even sleeping in there with him.

One morning she came downstairs only to find the wolf gone. She had searched but found no trace of paw prints on the ground to show his escape. There was only the hope that she had not slept through some poacher taking him. The tears that streaked her cheeks were dashed away, refusing to acknowledge them.

Weeks later there was a call that she had a visitor in the main office, the girl on the phone giggling. Thema finished up the feeding and headed over. If it was her ex he could kiss her fist when she got done reaming him out for cheating on her with some two-bit Orlesian tart.

It was indeed a man, but not her ex, that was waiting for her. He was tall, well built and dressed smartly in a three-piece charcoal gray suit – one that made her aware of her grungy, dirty and muddy clothes. The receptionist was trying to flirt with him, handled with a small crooked smile that was more amused than responsive. He was handsome, she could see that from his profile – especially his lips, plush and pink, made for kissing – and so she only rolled her eyes a little at the Dalish behind the counter.

His name was Solas, she learned, and he was the wolf she’d saved. Now she turned red, ashamed at the way she’d treated him and the baby talk she’d used. It was waved off with a small chuckle, then followed up with a bouquet of flowers – multi-colored roses, lavender, fuchsia, and irises – that made her jaw drop. It dropped even further when he asked her out on a date, and somehow, she managed to stammer out a ‘hell yes’.

Three years later he was still in her life but now as her husband, her bond mate, and they had just started a rehabilitation center for Wolves, taking in orphaned pups, injured wolves, and protecting the pack that lived on the land of the clinic.

She regretted nothing.


	22. (NSFW) Dominion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possessive sex, after care

Was he strutting?

Thema eyed her man as he set up a bath for them and decided that yes, he was strutting. A glare was leveled on the back of his head for it, the elvhen woman grumpy around her pillows and sheets. He deserved to strut a little but she could still glare at him. The ache in her stomach muscles and thighs, or just anywhere really, and legs that would just not work right was all because of him. Him and his stupidly sexy buttocks and hips and chest and… She doubled down on the glare, hugging the pillow a bit tighter.

She was going to get him back so good after she could walk again.

All because of some Bann of Wherever-place, son of Bann What’s-his-face and Lady Whoever, decided to flirt with her. Thema reprimanded that thought, it had been playful flirting at first and had then escalated to the point of being creepy and disconcerting. The greasy bastard even insinuated marriage. Where Josephine wouldn’t rescue her, Solas had swooped in. He hadn’t been riding a shining white steed or a Griffin but he’d been her hero in that moment. Then he’d become less of a hero and more of demon the moment he got her in his room.

Pressed up against the stone wall he’d ravished her mouth, tongue coiling and claiming as his hands quickly divested her of her clothing. When she was bare to him he’d trailed his lips over her skin, leaving bruises from lips and teeth in his wake, marking himself on her. She’d never been so wet so fast before once her muddled mind figured out what he was doing. Her opinions on possessive sex were changing every second he laid claim to her.

Fingers pressed against her cunt and he laughed softly, silky, shadow wrapped and dangerous. “Sopping already, my love?” Digits speared into her with no warning, sinking to the knuckle with obscene ease. He gave her no time to adjust, drumming into her, her juice flowing down his hand, staining the sleeve of his shirt. The mage mouthed the skin above her mound, sinking teeth into his canvas.

She’d held on for dear life as he fucked her, his name and broken cries filling the room. One, then two, three… Solas dragged her through so many little deaths she lost count, knees weak and voice hoarse. He had cleaned her cunt, growling happily at how coated his hand was with her cum, the strings of it as he pulled his fingers back, licking it off and then feasting on her. A hand on her stomach pushed his magic in her, spiraling out with another orgasm, ridding her muscles of their fatigue, dragging her stamina back from its grave.

Thema had nearly cursed him, silenced by the sudden movement as he carried her to his bed. He wasn’t done with her just yet and her rejuvenated body reacted violently, head swimming and thighs slick with want again. His clothes joined hers on the floor, firelight dancing on his skin as he crawled over her. “Ma vhenan…” The tips of her ears were tormented, fingertips both hot and cold playing along the sensitive edges. He had her writhing under her in no time at all, a pleased smirk on his mouth.

Red markings would dot her hips from the strength of his hold, lifting her from the bed to seat her on his cock – so hard, twitching inside her, sac tight against her ass. She could only hold on to him, leaving her own claim on his back with every rutting thrust into her body. “Ah, ah, Sol-Solas! Hnnng, ah hah, yes yes yes!”

He pushed her past the breaking point several times over, testing the limits of what she thought she could handle. Hands pinned to the bed, ass in the air; on her side, leg thrown over his shoulder; bound in place with magic as he thoroughly fucked her until she saw nothing but black.

When she came back her body was sluggish, languid and relaxed. Every knot of stress she’d been carrying, not only from the Bann but from every ordeal placed upon her, was gone. The downside to the ache and warm feeling was that her legs did not obey her anymore. Trying to get out of bed had resulted in her crashing to the floor. Solas had scooped her up – and of course, he was OK, using his magic to make sure he could strut his smugness all over the room –, placing her back into the bed. He promised her a bath and set about filling the tub with hot water.

So there she was glaring at him, playing their little game, while she enjoyed being taken care of. The firelight was soothing, the crackling and snapping of wood starting to lure her to sleep. Another storm was going on outside, and she was greatly amused through her torpor at how Solas’ ears twitched with the thunder.

The water was turned off and when he came to collect her from her igloo of sheets and pillows he paused. Fingers touched the marks on her skin with guilt. “I can heal these for you… I was far too rough… I-”

“Don’t even.” Thema batted at his hand. “’m gonna wear ‘em. If that shithead tries stuff ‘gain I’m gonna show t’em to him.”

Her slurred speech got a small chuckle-snort from him and the guilt faded back into his smugness. “I do not believe that Lady Josephine would be very supportive of such a move.”

“Don’ care. ‘m the Inquisitor!”

Strong arms lifted her from her cocoon and slipped her into the hot water. Oils were added to a warm clay pot, filling the air with vanilla, cinnamon, and almond. Thema hummed happily as the smell mixed with wood smoke, both relaxing and arousing at the same time. More than anything she was falling asleep as the heat eased the ache of her body, and as Solas started to wash sweat and lust from her skin she contentedly let it take her.


	23. Oath Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Soooo ... whenever you have the time/ feel like it: I'm super curious to see more Kel'aan! So young Solas & Kel'aan interactions please? - request from Tress  
> Pre-veil, young!Solas and Kel'aan in Arlathan.

“How did I get dragged into this?”

“You wish to do this as well.”

“Before I knew who it was!”

“Be quiet!” The voice hissed through the undergrowth, a hand clamping over his companions’ mouth.

Two young men huddled behind bushes, trying as hard as possible not to be seen. The de-facto leader kept his hand tight on his friend, craning to see past the leaves towards the riverbank, blue eyes darting about. He suddenly jerked his hand away, growling at the other. “Are you daft?!” The smear of saliva on his palm was quickly scrubbed away on dirty pants.

“I could ask the same of you!” The second, youth still clinging to his face, ashy brown hair kept back in fewer braids than the other, and eyes hazel. “Look, I happily follow you into some stunts that make me question your sanity but this one?! You’re asking to get killed! You’re playing with a dragon and I am not going to save your ass this time!”

A soft laugh answered the concerns. “Kel-is’lin, you worry far too much.”

“I worry the right amount, you do not!” Red speckled Kel’s face, his hands up and strangling the air in front of his oath-brother. “She is going to kill you if she catches you, and I am not risking my life for you.” One simple glance away to eye the riverbanks and when he looked back Solas was gone.

A fist was shoved in his mouth to muffle his shriek of outrage.

“I am the son of a Keeper of Knowledge and a Keeper of Valor, how did I sink this low to be oath-bound to the son of bandits?” Kel cursed under his voice, trying desperately to catch sight of his stupid, foolish brother. “If my parents could see me right now they would cast me from the family. By the stars, Solas, if she doesn’t kill you, I am! Slowly!”

Time passed far too quickly, the muscles in his legs starting to knot and ache and just as he decided to move a scream rang through the air. Soon followed by his idiot brother crashing through the brush, a blur of color in his arms. “RUN!”

A hand grabbing his arm and shirt left him no choice but to follow, heart in throat and unwilling to be caught. Obscenities were being hurled through the air at them, the power in the words singing the skin on his neck and back. “She’s going to kill us! … Did you take her robe?!”

The colorful bundle was cloth, the outer layer of the woman’s robes, rank and power woven into every color-changing fiber. To be without that was almost worse than being naked. “Give it back, give it back, give it back!”

The panic and fear in his voice were lost on his oath-brother, who was choking on his laughter as they ran. Fireballs exploded around them, lightning scorching trees. Kel was pretty damn sure that half of his head was now hairless, the braids of duty burned away by words of power and the magic being flung at them. And that little bastard was still laughing!

“I hope you find a woman who gives you as much hell as you give them!”


	24. (NSFW) You Taste Like Decadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Arlathan men may give women oral sex but women consider returning the favor a dirty act. Thema shows Solas just what he's been missing all these millennia.

The journey from the ruins of Haven to Skyhold left Solas and Thema with plenty of time to themselves, even as injured as she was. Though the going was slower than they wished – a healing ankle, torn tendons, among others, while healed by magic were still tender and raw – they made good time. After the first hour ranging ahead of the main caravan, they struck up a conversation. Forging through snow, scrambling up the mountainside and over rocks, they discussed many things.

How to better enforce Skyhold using the magic that should still lay in the foundations, expanding the Hold to become self-sufficient with gardens and livestock, hot water plumbing (Thema was very adamant about this one, she would wait no longer for a hot shower or bath), and perhaps peeling away the layers of the Hold to the elvhen structure underneath. The talk of how to suit the site for their interests only held the conversation for so long, and then they turned to other avenues. Solas, in particular, asked a million questions about Earth, about the shared dream of Thedas, the culture and the lack of magic. She shied away from speaking about weapons and he was understanding in that regard.

Nothing on Earth would help bring anything but chaos in that regard.

Eventually, as her body healed with the nightly sessions from her lover, the topic swung around to sex. There was light petting, some butt groping during the walking, and making out but sex hadn’t yet been added back to the menu. When Solas finally declared her fit enough they had barely gotten any sleep that night and the crags echoed their pleasure. With a skip in their step and the caravan now days behind them – they would reach Skyhold with at least a five day lead – they started discussing what turned them on, what turned them off and what they were willing to try.

Solas was far more secure in the first two, with a short list on the third. To her, it seemed his long life had given him ample opportunity to try quite an array of things in and out of bed. So it was mostly her who was sharing information than him.

Well, until she started teasing him about oral sex. Specifically, blow jobs. He seemed a little confused but she teased him still with very little reaction. Maybe they called it something else here and in Arlathan. When she asked for the Arlathani equivalent his face went blank, blinking at her as if he’d heard her wrong.

That’s when Thema found out that in Arlathan a woman orally pleasing a man never happened.

Well, that was about to change. She got him to agree to try it and they continued on, though Solas seemed less confident than he had been before that dialogue.

They found a cave empty of inhabitants and set camp for the night. With a fire crackling away, dinner eaten, they took warm rub down with melted snow. Her lover kept giving her curious-yet-slightly-fearful glances around his appreciation for her nudity. Thema teased him the entire time, making sure to pay extra attention to her breasts and between her legs, and when done, took over his washing.

She nipped and nibbled at the shell of his ears as the rough cloth washed the sweat of the day away. Fingertips ran over the dips and valleys of his body, teasing along the junction of thigh and hip, cupping his sac and playing with the loose skin of his cock-hood. She loved watching it roll back and forth over the increasingly wet tip, how it grew dark with blood, the veins visible as they swelled. The ones that ran from the root to the tip was toyed with in the lazy sweep of her hand, barely able to touch fingertips around him. It didn’t take long for him to harden for her, shaking and moaning in her grip, and easier still to direct him onto his back on the bedroll.

The elvhen woman straddled her lover’s thighs, hands holding his hips to the ground as her grinning lips lingered in the air above his cock. Just the sight of a pink tongue wetting her lips had his breath hitching. “Don’t worry, Solas, it won’t hurt. I promise I’ll stop the second you want me to.” The reassurance seemed to calm him, teeth letting go of his lower lip.

Thema touched her lips to him, dragging them over his length as she explored the veins and skin of his cock. The mage shifted under her as much as her hold would allow, unsure of the sensation. His hands seemed unsure of where to rest, whether on the fabric beneath him, the pillow below his head or on his chest. She watched him, trying not to smile, and for once she felt like she was truly in control. This was something he knew nothing about, as he never intruded on memories like this in the Fade, and had never experienced it.

Slowly, she introduced the touch of her tongue, laughing softly when he jolted. The warmth, the texture, and wet sensation was surely so very much different, and the little sound he made seemed positive about it. She watched him as her tongue trailed random patterns on his flesh. So sensitive already to what she was doing… She was a lucky, lucky woman. It had been so long since she’d done this and it was pleasing to finally soothe that craving.

The tip of her tongue played with the ridge of the weeping head, gathering the bitter tears to coat the muscle. She rolled back the hood, stroking her hand over his length just a few times until she couldn’t take it anymore and needed to taste him again. Up and over, dipping into the hole, purring happily as the man under her jerked and cried out. “Solas, baby… you look so beautiful like this.” He was shaking, the muscles under his flushed skin shivering and shifting, back arching and stomach fluttering.

His adam’s apple bobbed in his neck, mouth open to try and catch his breath that was swiftly taken away with his keens and cries. Red infused his cheeks and back to the tips of his ears, and tears seemed to gather in the corners of his eyes. The last made her pause, reaching up to touch his face. “Solas?”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop…. sathan, ma vhenan… don’t stop…” The rest of his words were in Arlathani, the tone clearly begging her.

The pleas made her squirm, her own arousal slicking her thighs now. Her addiction to this was being fueled, and she hungered for more of his taste. “I won’t, ma'fen, I promise.”

“Do you know how good you taste?” She wanted him to shatter in her hands, and she would use her mouth in every way to get that. “Bitter, but thick, you fill my mouth and I love it.” The twitching flesh was slipped over her tongue, cradled in her mouth. Lips caught on the ridge of his cock, and she suckled hard. He seemed to spasm, back arching like a pulled bow, frost slamming into the stone floor along with a hand as he lost control.

The scent of crisp cold filled her nose, making the musk of his ecstasy all the sharper. She moaned around him, making him cry out. “Oh god, ma vhenaaaan, hnngnnn ah ah ah!”

Thema moaned again, letting him fall out of her mouth. “You are amazing, Solas… so hot on my tongue… I will make you cum so hard and I’ll do it to you again and again….”

“Vhenan, vhenan, yes, yes… sathan sathan sathan…” Fingers scrambled over the frost covered stone. “Hah, hah… my love, please… I-I-I…” His words ended on a keen as she took him straight to the root, nose pressed into the flesh of his groin. The sound he made made her cunt clench and pulse, another wave of wet heat dripping onto the bedroll.

She caught his hand, the smell of ozone on his fingers from loosened magic. The palm was placed against her throat so he could feel how it bulged with the girth of him. Thema swallowed around him, the stimulation of both out- and inside making him call to the stars, voice echoing in their confines. Saliva pooled at the base of his cock and she grew light-headed. Letting him loose from her throat, the length of him thickly coated and glistening in the firelight. Ignoring the slight ache in her neck she covered him with suckling kisses and the touch of her tongue.

Hands replaced mouth as she turned her attentions elsewhere. The taut sac was suckled, and he practically howled for her. He made her cunt ache, the drenched walls clenching and releasing, and she felt so, so empty. Thema let go of his balls, considering for a moment abandoning this and just fucking them both to completion. No, she was going to blow his mind to smithereens first, but she could ease her own ache. The rogue shifted to straddle a thigh, grinding into the hard muscle with a moan of relief. Perfect.

Her lips ventured further south, paying praise to the delicate skin that lay between sac and ass. The vein there was flushed red, engorged against her tongue and she followed it’s path to the hidden bud. Touch here was light, testing, but his reaction was electric, the scent of ozone stronger mixed with his musk, mana exploding in little pops of blue, green and gold. She was destroying him and she feasted upon it.

Hips raised to meet her exploration, the plundering of such stimulating flesh. Thema licked and played, toying with the nerves she knew were making his body sing. His voice was broken, barely able to form words, hoarse and shattered inside his chest. Pleased with his fracturing she set into motion the end.

The cock in her hands was pulsing, hot and the veins throbbed under her touch. He was close, she knew he was. Covered in sweat, red marks on his stomach from his own nails and hers as well, thighs quivering on either side of her head. Thema licked and sucked at the head of his cock, stroking the thick length to hurry him over the precipice. “So good, Solas… you’re so good… I want you to come for me. I want to taste your cum.”

Hips were bucking weakly against her, head thrown back as he moaned weakly. “Cum for me, Solas.” A few more motions, the twist of a wrist, her tongue hovering over the head of him, and he was coming for her, her name etched into the cave around them. The first covering her fingers, and the second stronger than the first, landing in a thick stripe on his belly. The last few were caught in her mouth, groaning at the thick cream that she tasted: sweet, a hint of savory, and male.

The mess was cleaned from her digits and his belly, humming happily at the taste of him. He was boneless, panting heavily, the magic in the cave fading away. She let him be for a few moments before crawling back up him, her dripping cunt pressed into the length of his cock. Slow gyrating motions coated him in her juice, teasing her hard clit and him with the soaked entrance of her cunt. He made a noise of protest but was growing firm again. “My turn, Solas… I hope you’re up to it.”


	25. Ar Lath Ma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a friend on Tumblr for her birthday.

Having Skyhold all to themselves was a bit intimidating. During the day it was fine when they were busier trying to clear the lower courtyard for the arrival of the caravan. Solas did most of the heavy lifting, he still didn’t want her to handle too much to put stress on her injuries, using magic and flesh. She mostly made sure there was space for the injured, secured fresh water and checked the buildings for stability.

And paused often to appreciate the sight of her lover bare-chested and sweaty. With no one else around to stop them that appreciation usually turned into sex.

At night, it was very different. Silence hung over the Hold like a shroud, wind whistling through the broken stone and archways like the moaning of the damned. When the wind really picked up Thema was sure there was an army at their door or a very angry Dragon. Solas would reassure her that there was nothing of the sort out there, but even she noticed that he would cuddle up as close as he could, glancing at the warded doors frequently.

The gateway room they’d claimed as theirs was the only bright spot in Skyhold then. Fire blazed brightly in the chimney, throwing cacophonous shadows all over the walls, the scent of dinner still in the air and they laid together on the rickety wooden cot that was their bed. Books had been found in magically sealed chests under the rubble and debris, quickly snatched up by the mage. He was slowly devouring them, mumbling under his breath as blue eyes weighed the words on yellowed pages.

These evenings she laid her head on his chest, his book propped open on his hip, an arm slung over her back to flip the pages. She adored watching him read, the way his face scrunched up when he didn’t agree with something, how his eyebrows knit when presented a new idea, and the smirk when something agreed with something he knew to be true. Thema would stay that way until she fell asleep, and would wake in the morning wrapped up in him.

This new book he had started did not seem to agree with him, a scowl and wrinkles between his brow in an almost permanent state of residence. What was on the pages she barely knew, still learning to read the languages. It was a cute look nonetheless and she stifled giggles into the lambswool under her cheek. When he started grumbling in Arlathani she couldn’t contain it any longer.

“Solas, if it’s making you that upset stop reading it.” The elvhen woman wiggled up his body and pressed a kiss to his nose. His scrunched nose got another kiss, and then another on those pouting lips just because.

He sighed, but let the book tumble out of his fingers to the floor. “I am sure you have better ideas on how to entertain us.” Now empty fingers settled on her bottom, groping, as a smirk took place of the pout.

Thema laughed, kissing him again. “Maybe… but I’m not really up for sex right now.” The three rounds earlier and some tongue work had satisfied that craving for the day. “Maybe make out instead?” Brows wagged at him, getting a small chuckle.

Kisses, flavored sweet, more lip than tongue, the caress of hands over and sometimes under clothing. They kissed until their lips were sore and tingling, cool magic soothing the ache so they could continue. It was like hot liquid chocolate under the skin, soaking into muscle and bone, belly full of warm bubbles. Both were enraptured by sensation and touch, languid in desire.

In this moment of levity, the words slipped from her lips with nary a thought. Everything stumbled to a halt like a band that was interrupted.

Solas stared at her with wide eyes, lips kiss-swollen and gaping. Panic surged through her body as what happened caught up with her, and words of apology twisted her tongue to silence. It all died when a trembling hand cupped her face, her own settling over his in a motion more instinct by now, and he kissed her desperately. “Say it again, Thema, please.”

It broke her to hear his voice so thick with melancholy, edged in hope and begging. Tears almost pricked her eyes, forced back. “I… I love you, Solas.” Harder to say the second time, now aware of the weight of those words spoken in sobriety, offering her heart to a man destined to break it.

He shook against her, gasping like a man drowning, finding air in her lips. She was crushed against him, lithe frame encompassed by his, hands gripping like she’d disappear if he let go. “Ar lath ma, ar lath ma!” Whispered screams of devotion twined with the firelight, settling into their spirits, filling in the chinks of their hearts.

It was not wise, they both knew that, not with what the future held. Wisdom was thrown aside for the fervor of ardor and yearning, for years of bliss lived in the moment. What the future would bring them they were willing to face just for this, and the peace it might bring for a few seconds.


	26. Lazy Days Breed Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some downtime for the Crew before the transition to Skyhold.

Why they all gathered around the pasture Thema would never really recall, just that the day held nothing in store for them. It was one day of surprisingly many where they did not need to go down into Fereldan to fight, nor did anything call for her attention with rifts or nobles. Today she could shirk the duties of being the ‘Herald of Andraste’.

Bull and Blackwall were swapping outrageous battlefield stories, with Solas listening and chiming in at times; Varric was enjoying a pipe filled with Dragon’s Breath, the smoke twining, and dancing in the cold air. Sera was throwing rocks in the new snow, probably spelling out some curse words if her sniggers were anything to go by. Dorian was with Cassandra complaining about the bitter cold, both of them bundled up like Eskimo’s. Cole merely played in the snow, making little bunnies.

Vivienne was nowhere to be seen, sneering at the thought of playing in the snow.

Thema merely watched them all, sitting on the cold wood fence, enjoying the moment of peace.

Chatter and playing continued until Blackwall strode into the pasture, eyes shining with good humor. “I’ll prove it to you, Bull.” He was grinning, eyeing the herd of druffalo.

What in hell was he talking about? She tilted her head as she watched. Bull was smiling too, and Solas was rubbing the bridge of his nose. It had to be something immature in his opinion to get him to do that.

With a victim singled out, the pseudo-Warden crept up on the unsuspecting beast. Other druffalo were eyeing him, making low sounds of concern. Chaos only erupted when the older warrior grabbed onto the tail, letting out a loud whoop when the animal bellowed and started running. Blackwall hung on with both hands, boots sliding across the trampled snow and ice like a water skier.

Everyone’s attention was immediately on the spectacle, laughing and cheering on the man - even Solas was chuckling a little. Cassandra couldn’t decide whether to make her usual ‘ugh’ or cheer him on as the druffalo made crazy circles, still bellowing, in the pasture. The rest of the herd was huddled up in a corner, hoping they weren’t next.

Bull bowed to the human when he skidded to a stop near them, his ride galloping off to join its brethren. “Ha ha! Gotta hand it to you, didn’t think you’d actually do it.” When his eye turned to Solas the grin widened. “Got anything up your sleeves?”

He was given a haughty look for a moment that dissolved into an impish smirk. Thema neatly ignored the little flop her stomach did at the look. She was used to seeing that in the dark of night in another context.

A gathering of sheep and goats were chewing on a fresh pile of hay, unperturbed by the plight of the poor druffalo. Their peaceful meal was disturbed as the mound shook and then started to scoot across the ice. They stared, bleating in question before following it to keep eating. It moved again, and they cautiously followed it.

A few seconds later they were chasing it through the snow, some goats had fallen over with their legs sticking straight in the air. The laughter continued at the cluelessness of the animals and their extreme intent of getting their food to stay still.

After that it was an array of pranks and showing off, soon becoming a snow fight. Magic was outlawed but other than that it no rules. Everyone got sneak attacks from the rogues, Solas had a few handfuls of snow shoved down his shirt and one in his pants - as did a few others, including Thema - and alliances formed and fell apart depending on who had the upper hand.

The day was spent just having fun and when dinner rolled around they all piled into the Tavern for hot food and drinks. Tea and cider were passed around, hot rum, and platters of food still sizzling in its juice. Everyone ribbed everyone else, bragging and teasing, all in good humor.

By the time the food was gone the little group was parting ways to seek their beds, worn out but happy. Some barriers had come down between them all, the startings of friendship taking root.


	27. When You Were Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff for Thema and Solas. Exploring an Arlathan headcanon as well.

Since Redcliffe happened cuddling was always a staple for post-coital bliss. They often spent more time doing that than having sex most days, just drinking in the contact and talking, or making out.

Solas laid on his stomach on her bed, the faded-blue sheet pooling over the curve of his ass, tangled in his legs where their actions had tugged it loose. It showed off the dimples in the small of his back, two little divots she absolutely loved exploring with digits and tongue. He was seemingly half-asleep but for his fingers twining in her gray hair. It was a lazy motion, like a cat kneading a pillow, and utterly adorable. He seemed to have a fascination with her hair being down in private and was always undoing whatever braid or bun it was in the moment they were alone. Maybe he just missed having his own hair.

She ran fingertips over the curve of his scalp, along his jawline, tweaked his nose once to make him scrunch it and grumble at her. Thema chuckled at his expression, pressing a kiss into his cheek. She loved seeing the reactions she got from him when she did or said something he wasn’t expecting. He was starting to adopt looks of suffering when she did silly things, making the rest of the Inner Circle laugh.

Fingers left his face alone, turning to the delicate shell of his ear. Thema stayed away from the sensitive helix and the tip, tracing the fleshy lobe. It always amazed her, on a more studious level, just how different elvhen ears were from humans. From what she had been born with to what she had now. So much more responsive, Solas’ ear twitched under her light touch, with far better hearing but easier to damage.

She was about to leave it alone after several minutes of study, his ear was starting to really twitch now and he was going to bat her away soon when she found three small holes in the soft lobe. About halfway down his ear, spaced evenly and still open. “Solas?” 

“Mm?” He was definitely half-asleep even with her messing with his ear.

“Did you use to wear earrings?”

One sleepy eye opened, staring at her for a moment before closing once more. “We were all young once.”

“Pfft, Solas, you’re still young.” She could see him roll his eyes even though they were closed. “You still fuck like a man a quarter your age.” The grin was wide when he flushed a little, chuckling into the pillow. “Can I see you with earrings? I think it’d be sexy.”

Solas shifted onto his back, and she was momentarily distracted by the sheet settling over the bulge of his groin, teasing with the flat plain of his stomach dipping between his legs. He pulled her down to his chest, an arm wrapped around her waist, hand resting on her ass. “Perhaps. For now, sleep.”


	28. In the Deep Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after In Your Heart Shall Burn. Lots of Solas angst and self-hate. And seriously that fall into the cave should have done a lot more damage than they showed in-game.
> 
> [Buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/A1851D0X)

The stone was cold and frost-covered when she came to, leeching into her bones and wrapping itself up in the pain. Thema groaned, dragging a hand across the ground, barely enough energy to open her eyes and let alone stand. Everything hurt and she felt disconnected, floating above her mortal frame. Whatever Corypheus had done to the Mark it still burned through her veins like hot lava. His fumbling attempts at removing the Anchor had seemed to try and pull her from her very body.

It took far too long, passing in and out of darkness, to finally be able to reach her feet. She nearly fell on her face several times trying to reach the wall with one ankle refusing to support her, the other barely doing so. Using the wall to guide her, trying not to black out again and again, Thema knew she was in bad shape. The healing potions that had been attached to her belt, at least six of them, in preparation for this moment had all broken. She could feel the leather and chain of her armor sticking to her hip from frozen blood where the glass shards had lacerated her skin.

If she made it out of the cave and pass the despair demons it would be a miracle. Were her mind any less numb she would just curl up at the bend of the passage and let the cold take her. She would never make it out there in the snow and cold, bleeding, broken and barely conscious.

It was the shock, and most certainly a concussion, that helped and hampered her. The pain had dulled since the first time she woke, but her memories were foggy and hazy for everything before she got to her feet. God help her if it was more serious than that.

Eventually, she made it to the entrance of the mining tunnel, having passed out one more time, and she was surprised when there were no demons. Thank the fates for small miracles. Walking across the empty expanse turned into crawling, and again she fought off the desire to just keel over and stay where she was until all the pain faded away into bliss nothing. Curses were tainted with blood from a bitten tongue, and new pain pierced the shock as she moved. Her shoulders, and her back where she had been thrown into the trebuchet, blood running down her face over old, dried trails when she pushed back her hair.

What more damage had been done to her body she didn’t want to think about.

 

Solas ranged far from the camp every night, beyond the patrol of the scouts and guards. He expected no permission for this and asked for none, even though they knew he was doing this. No one expected her to be alive and their pitying faces when they looked at him made him want to shout, yell, throttle them. His love said that she would survive, had prepared for this not only for herself but for the whole of Haven being destroyed. Hope would not be lost just because a few seemed to accept the worst.

Far away from the camp and it’s glowing fires in the snowstorm, he swallowed the bitter, metallic chalk taste of lyrium. He hated having to drink so many of these vials every night, knowing what it truly was, but it was a grim necessity for what he was doing. Mana welled inside him with each gulp of the iridescent fluid, filling his limbs and belly with strength.

The wind-driven snow masked the streams of light and smoke as he shed his elvhen form. Fur in place of skin, six eyes for what were two, standing far above the height of any Qunari. Only a second was taken to settle into the new shape before he set off into the white, cold desert and howling wind.

He ranged far, trying to find the path back to the last place the caravan had camped but the ever present snow in the air had filled in the tracks already and the scent was nearly gone. Teeth ripped into a tree, wood shards and pine sap in his black fur and stuck on his tongue in his frustration.

She would not be lost. After all these years he finally loved and he would not let that be taken from him. The well of anguish, of sorrow and adulation, made him cry out in the night, a mourning sound that burst on the rocks of the crevice. No, she was not his to place a claim on, no matter what she said to the contrary. The woman was important to Thedas, for closing the breach, and this happiness was momentary and fleeting.

He could still not let her die out here with his mark in her hand, to find her frozen body in a melting snowbank come spring. Still, he could not stop the frantic beat of his heart, nor the yearning to have her back in his arms.

Each night, when the cold became too much, he let out a howl every few yards back to the camp. Maybe she would hear and be able to follow, elvhen ears picking out the sound from the wind and acting as a northern star.

Solas could do little more than hope.

On the sixth night, he held mere strands of that hope in his hands, reality slowly crushing down on him. He had destroyed this… one little prick of annoyance had spiraled him down this path with her, refusing to back down when she confronted him for just sex, after screaming in his face that she knew that he was Fen'harel. “It was never supposed to happen like this…” The words fluttered through the air, dying in the snow at his feet. So many dead and dying because of his foolish knee-jerk reactions.

The mage closed his eyes against the ripping pain and brought the vial of lyrium to his lips. First of six, empty bottles tucked back into the worn green rucksack. Tonight would be the last night he searched. Tonight he would have to accept that she had not made it. The in-fighting had started already, and soon the Inquisition would rip itself apart. He would need to secure supplies and leave before that happened, try and stop Corypheus on his own, and seal the corrupted breach properly before setting his plans in motion.

The lid of the fifth was being pierced when he heard a noise. Crunching snow, moving slow, in the trees to his right. Solas froze, eyes trained on the spot. He had seen no wolves nor any other animal in the days past, all likely hibernating or seeking plentiful food down in the valleys of Fereldan. It was not the lyrium-stained Templars and Venatori either, the majority of them wiped out by the avalanche and Thema sending the second party to Therinfal Redoubt to recruit those that would go along with Cole.

Every minute the noise crept closer, and suddenly his chest grew tight, hope flaring to life again. Whatever was making the sounds had to be injured from the pattern of movement. Was it…? He tossed the bottle aside and darted for the trees, not caring when his feet broke through the thin crust and he was thigh deep in the bitter cold. “Vhenan!”

She came around the large pine at the same time she did, collapsing in his arms. Panic spiraled with relief at the sight of her. Blood in her hair, frozen and old, on her armor, signs of frostbite on her fingers and cheeks, cold as death but alive. “Vhenan, hold on, the rest are not far away.” He gathered her in his arms, flooding her body with healing magic, nearly crying out at how broken she was. “My love, please, just a few more minutes.”


	29. Wayward Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thema and Solas’ first conversation. It did not go well… Also the first step down the path that ties them together, and at least there’s no real surprises later down the road in their relationship after they get it all out of their system.
> 
> Warning: vicious Thema, curse words like a binkie, vicious Solas, don’t read if you don’t like Solas’ character being verbally attacked

They stared at each other in silence, the cold wind howling and swirling snow around them, dead and frozen bodies their only audience. The place for their battle of words was the bridge leading out of Haven, frozen over and broken in places but still standing. Or perhaps she was the only one who saw the battle coming. Solas stood, seemingly relaxed, hands clasped behind his back, slightly hunched like a humble apostate would be. It infuriated her to see him masquerade like that and so she let loose the first volley.

His face was blank, now ramrod straight in posture. Thema was grinning, full of teeth and malice. It was darkly pleasing to throw him off balance, throw him into chaos like he’d thrown her life into chaos. Dragging her here into Thedas, into the corruption and warfare, when she’d finally found peace and freedom from the pain of her bones… Shoving her into this body, his magic in her hand causing searing pain like she’d never felt before, tying her to him. A man she hated even before she met him, refusing to have anything to do with the pixels on her computer monitor for the lies he spewed.

She could see that her words echoed in him, a roar that was a whisper playing over and over in his head.

‘I know who you are, Fen’harel.’

Thema could also see the emotions flitting through his eyes, how his body had tensed up like a bow string pulled too tight and ready to snap. If he thought that was all she’d say he was oh so wrong.

A step forward was taken, and he finally blinked. He took one back and she chased him until his back was to the solid stone railing of the bridge.

“I know who you are,” The hiss was like a crack of the whip, overpowering the sound of the wind in the valley. “What you plan to do. I know the Conclave was your fault, that you’re the reason all these people are dead,” Her voice was climbing until she was nearly shouting, a hand gesturing to the dead littered around them in piles or on wooden planks. She didn’t miss the flinch her gesture caused, the shame starting to worm its way into the edges of his empty expression, and exulted in it. “That it is your orb that you fucking gave to Corypheus.”

His mouth opened to refute it but she growled at him, snapping at him. “Shut. UP.” Solas slammed his mouth shut so hard she could hear his teeth click, lips thinning and annoyance replacing shame.

“I don’t give a fuck if you ‘left it’ for him to find. You let him have it, fucking counting on him fucking dying after unlocking it. Well, guess fucking what? He didn’t fucking die!”

She wasn’t sure what to think of his bearing then. He looked more like she had confirmed something he expected, something he’d hoped wasn’t true.

Still, she placed her finger in his face, shaking with the rage she was unleashing onto him. She hated how he was taller than she was now, that she had to tilt her head back to glare at him from this close of a distance. “You fucking guaranteed the death of thousands of people with your little shit idea! Couldn’t fucking do your own damned research on a fucking corrupted Tevinter Magister that can’t fucking die.”

Now his stoicism was starting to break: shock, panic, shame, annoyance all in one whirlwind over his features.

“Can’t fucking die, wants to be a God and rip down the Veil to access where you put the Evanuris.”

His pupils were pinpoints now, mouth slightly open, hands hanging at his side limply.

“And you, you fucker, want to tear the Veil down too. Burn this world to the damn ground and probably fuck up bringing so-called ‘glory’ back to your people instead of doing something like fucking trying to fucking live alongside them, or find a place where your shitty Veil doesn’t reach to live.”

“Can’t pull your damn head out of your own ass long enough to actually think, too fucking lost in your damn glory days to think of anyone but yourself.”

Thema pulled herself up onto the tips of her toes, brown eyes dark with rage and unleashed frustration through the windblown black strands of her hair, her nose barely kissing the tip of his. “So you are going to help clean up this damn mess. If you dare to skip town I will hunt you down and make you pay.”

There was a disconcerting moment as her more rational and sane side welled up in curiosity at being so close to him. She could see the violet shards hiding in the stormy blue of his eyes, count the freckles splashed across cheekbones and nose. How his plush pink lips were dry and chapped. He smelled like stale sweat, ozone from his magic, fur and leather, and under all that something masculine.

For a brief, crazy moment she wanted to bury her head in his chest, draw in that scent, maybe see if he was as good a kisser as the game said he was.

Thema felt her face flush from the sudden urge and clawed after her rage like it was a lifeline. Stupid thoughts like those had no place in this moment, nor any moment going forward that he was in. He didn’t seem to notice her reaction to her own thoughts, his own countenance changing to anger to protect himself from her and her brutality.

What fools they were.

The elvhen woman started to back away from the supposed God, not above a last parting shot.

“You consider us all playthings but am I fucking real enough now?”

The turn of the heel, victorious retreat, was halted by a grip of iron on her arm. She could feel frost crackling over her clothing, errant wisps of biting magic leaving her skin raw red and tender.

His voice growled into her now pointed ears, thick and dark. It made a shiver roll down her spine, hot wet settle between her legs. What the hell?

“If you know who I truly am, you know what I am capable of. You know of what I’ve done to those who get in my way, who cross my path.” His lips were brushing against the tip of her ear, making, even more, shivers spread through her body like wildfire, knees growing weak.

“The only reason you are alive is because of your false title, your own false claim to sainthood. You are a liar more so than I. You do not belong to this world, past or present, your spirit is malformed, corrupted, untouched by magic.”

His magic in her hand flared to life, spitting green sparks, searing her nerves with pain that caused a wordless scream. Then it died as swiftly as it came.

“Do not presume to threaten me, child. You would not win that battle.”

Terror filled her veins, colder than the ice and snow around them, decimating any arousal that she had been feeling. It also gave her the strength to jerk her arm from his grasp, and calmly walk away. Her back was stiffly straight, gait awkward, expecting an unleashed spell to cut her down, but none came.

Once out of sight she bolted, running as fast and as hard as she could back to the hut she’d been given. Every person she passed muttered something about the ‘Herald of Andraste’, gawking at her.

The door slammed shut behind her, and she sank to the packed earth, hiccuping sobs. Never in her life had a voice so inspired fear, and she knew he must have used a spell, wrapping it up in the deep tones of his voice. A small moment of proof that she was not untouchable, not out of reach, that he could harm her if he wanted to and that she might be unable to resist or stop him.

Yet…

She was the so-called Herald of Andraste, the future Inquisitor. He was the apostate all wrapped up in lies and half-truths, holding no position of power here. She held the power. The plans he would set into motion, his little network of spies would never come to be.

With that thought in mind, the fear faded, the sobs quieting.

He would not scare her again.


	30. (NSFW) Fire in the Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy! We got some bow-chicka-bow-wow hate sex here!
> 
> Warning!: HATE SEX!, spanking, biting, hair pulling, slight asphyxiation, cursing, drinking, creampie, bondage of sorts, dominant asshole Solas
> 
> You have been warned.

This was a bad, bad idea.

She stood outside the door of Solas’ home, a wooden structure only slightly better than her own, set atop one of the highest reaches of Haven. It had been surprisingly warm out that day, the snow turning into mud and muck underfoot, the smell of the smithy and animal pens stretching far and wafting into unsuspecting noses. At the moment it was starting to chill a little as the sun was nearly below the horizon. Stars were starting to decorate the darkening sky, the moon sitting fat and heavy above one of the peaks of the Frostbacks.

Fire glow lit the windows in the reaches below her, the Tavern and homes looking cozy and welcoming. She’d rather be there than here, wondering if she was making the right choice.

It had been nothing more than a play of power, to knock him off balance, to get under his skin. A reminder that she controlled the landscape. She hadn’t expected him to accept. Now she had to back up her own word, and so she was. Wine bottles in one hand, clay cups in another. She eyed the glowing window, let out a heavy sigh and knocked on the door.

Her mind did perk up with a thought: she’d be able to verify the authenticity of his bulge, and if his kisses were as passionate as the game showed the sex would be more so. That was a pleasing thought, at least, and for a moment she looked forward to it.

Until he opened the door.

He was just wearing the green strapped undershirt and his stitched linen pants. The lambswool tunic and foot wraps were draped over the back of a chair behind him. A book laid open on the desk, a weighted leather strap marking where he had stopped reading. Her eyes were a little large, taking in the hint of a well-built chest hidden from view, and the very well seen strength of his arms and calves.

She jerked her eyes back up to his face, starting to glare at the smug smirk he was wearing. Anger spiked hot in her belly and she nearly hissed at him.

The bottles and cups were held up with a small disgusted noise. “I brought wine to make this easier.” To tick him off she muttered under her breath where he could hear. “Especially for me.”

His face was far less smug when she stepped inside. The thick and unpolished bottles were set down, the dustier one pushed towards the mage. “Yours,” A cup was tossed to him, not caring if he caught it or it shattered on the floor.

Silence reigned over them as they both started drinking. They watched each other over the rim of their cups like enemies from their trenches on a torn battlefield. It truly felt like one, each posed to retreat but refusing to, waiting for the other to flinch first. A tension was growing in the air as the wax melted on the candles, the fire popped and crackled. Every gulp of wine was a small advancement until inhibitions were only a suggestion.

She made the first move.

Thema slipped into his lap, straddling his thighs. She felt the beginning of an arousal under her sex. Definitely a shower, she noted, as she ground down into him. Fingers found the tips of his ears and pinched them, making him hiss and bare his teeth at her. The hold was leveraged to yank his head back, neck bare and offered to her. She bit at him, at the strong jaw line she’d been eyeing since she started drinking, at the bulge of his adam’s apple. Marks were being left in his skin, the crescent moons of her teeth, bruises from sucking until his skin tasted like copper.

A hold was kept on one ear tip as the other hand roamed over the strapped shirt. It was like leather, but not, supple and soft. It barely interested her, she wanted the damn thing off. She smirked against his neck, biting again for good measure when she found hidden lacing on his side. They were torn at until they relented, the garment sagging open on his side. Nails were raked over his ribs, from armpit to hip and he growled, almost directly in her ear and she felt her own juice gush to soak her unders and pants. She forced her hips down, grinding even harder into his now completely erect cock.

Oh, he was very much a nice size, and she purred.

Her reign of power ended when he dropped the bottle of wine, too little left in it to spill on the dirt. His hand, fingers long and graceful, sank into her hair and grabbed at the roots, twisting hard enough to make her yell out a curse. He didn’t relax his grip until she let go of his ear and pushed backward to ease the pain. The pained sounds she made only made him chuckle, his grin as foreboding as teeth shown by a wolf. His expression made her all the slicker, confusion sitting under the alcohol addled lust.

He pulled even more and she followed or risk losing her black locks. Onto her feet, now baring her teeth at him, cursing him and his ancestors liberally. Solas merely grinned, shadows in his eyes of lust and dark promises. He forced her around, facing his bed and shoved her face into the gold and blue blanket, coarse under her cheek, the bed rocking with his strength. Air was gasped for, dragged through the fabric thick and hot, his fist digging into the base of her skull. It was all so much, wine and caramel flavored lust clouding her head, heavy on her tongue and between her legs, her cunt throbbing, aching.

The tug on her shirt was struggled against until fabric ripped, parting it down the back in tatters. Thema yelped, spewing muffled curses into his bed, bucking back against him. A hand rewarded her, cracking across her ass that made her scream in fury. She could almost feel his smug glee radiating from him when he smacked her ass again and again until she was crying from rage, kicking out with a foot. Like a snake she writhed in his grip, spewing hate and bile, scratching at the bed in lieu of his flesh.

He kept her pinned, his strength making her hornier still until she wore herself out. “Are you done?” His voice was calm, like a parent who was tired of a child's’ temper tantrum.

It only gave her the strength to spit out a litany of ‘fuck you, fuck you, fuck you’.

Solas laughed again, like the dark right before dawn, like velvet on her skin, like the growl of a beast. The motion of his grip yanking her breeches and panties to her knees was all he needed to do to make her shut up. He grabbed one thigh, digging nails into skin, yanking her open to him with a throaty moan. “You hate me, little demon, but you are so drenched in your own spum.” Those same fingers that left bruises on her flesh now dug into her cunt, fucking her fast and hard. “Don’t you hear it?”

She could, little squelches in tune with his digits, and the piston-like motion was a rush, a brief release until he pulled them from her. They were wiped on the red flush of her ass, another slap given to make her growl and curse. He merely pushed her head further into the mattress, slightly tilted now so she could gasp for air.

There was a new sound, the rustling of fabric. Then, something large and hot and fleshy at her entrance.

Finally! Lust coiled like a living monster in her belly, driving her back against him only to scream when he pulled away. Threats of harm against his manhood were suddenly silenced when he slammed into her without warning, punching in to the root in one easy move. She nearly screamed, the feel of him inside her almost painful in his thick size, seeming so much bigger than when she had sat on his lap. It was infuriatingly arousing, the caramel mixed with mocha, coating every nerve. Later she would swear she could feel his heartbeat pulsing in her cunt.

They both had to still for a moment, sucking in air and scrambling to keep from ending too soon. He was muttering something under his breath in Arlathani, whatever it was she could sense he was doing it control himself, so touch starved that even this hate fueled sex could tip him over easily.

Her fangy grin heralded no good deed, and she took advantage of his distraction to surge forward, slamming the bed into the wall only to slam back onto his cock. Now it was his turn to shout, moaning as she fucked herself on him, ignoring the pain in her scalp for the pain-pleasure of fucking herself into oblivion on the thick, throbbing flesh she held inside her. Hands gripped the edge of the bed to give herself more leverage, and was nearly there, the edge in sight when he gripped her hip and pinned her completely.

Teeth dug into the skin over her spine, returning the favor of bite marks and bruises, all the way up to the back of her neck. They held there, animalistic in dominion and intent. She was his to rut and claim. Thema cursed him, cunt rippling and gripping at him in betrayal of her hatred.

Dominance seemingly reestablished Solas fucked her, words lost in the sounds of sex and tainted pleasure. He lasted longer than she expected, even letting go of her hair to hold her hips in both hands, tilting her in a way that gave him greater pleasure, a tighter sheath to fuck.

More bruises, more pain mixed in, fighting each other every step of the way until they both finally crashed over the cliff. She went first, mouth open in a wordless scream, back arched, clenching so tightly on him he could barely move. Her slick drenched her thighs, running down his balls and messing the linen of his breeches. Then he went the moment she slumped into the bed, a long moan his only sound, filling her with cum with every clench of his balls, shaking at the intensity.

Pulling from her he lingered above her, fingers parting the swollen lips of her sex, watching his seed drip from her. Her warning snarl was all he needed to stop touching her and collapsed on the bed beside her. Covered in sweat, cock growing limp as it laid on his stomach, semen still dewed at the tip. The magepanted, red flush leaving his skin and letting her marks stand out on his body.

“You may leave now.” The words were cold, biting.

Thema snorted, easing off the bed, aching in all the right and wrong places. Pants and underwear were dragged back into place but the ripped shirt was thrown into his face. “Fuck you.”

She left the hovel, nude from the waist up, leaking his seed, and drained of hate.


	31. Confessions of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Suicide mention, may trigger. Lots of backstory.
> 
> Where Solas starts to realize that change is inevitable.

It took time for them to settle into whatever this was they had. Arguments still raged, but not nearly as volatile and potent as they had once been, when anger turned into lust and adrenaline swept through their bodies. Unspoken rules confined their need: no holding, no talking, and above all, no kissing. They were easy rules to hold onto.

At first.

Then things started to change. 

Solas was the first to realize it, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. The grip of his teeth had softened in her skin, along with the hold of his nails, and lust was being traded for comfort. It was comfortable to seek release with the elvhen woman, comfortable in their routine of fighting and sex. Sometimes he sought her out, surprising her to bypass traded words just for the high of physical contact. That didn’t mean he broke the rules, but he bent them sometimes. 

He knew exactly where the change had started and he blamed her entirely for it.

Thema had come to him that night, more bottles of wine in hand, but she had seemed… scared, distant; the look in her eyes almost pleading for help. That look scared him as well, the word ‘no’ dancing on the edges of his tongue. Yet damn him, damn him to the Void and back, he couldn’t turn her away. 

Solas had expected fear of the role she’d been thrust into, fear of the anchor. What he wasn’t expecting was her story, the answers to how she’d known who he was, what his plans were, and even the story of how she came to be here. 

A shared dream with hundreds of thousands of others, a ‘global network of consciousness’ she called it, all taking different paths through Thedas, each a different Inquisitor. The blood in his ears was like the blacksmith’s hammer when she said that they all knew the truth of him, that some wanted to kill him, that some would be very willing to join his armies. Half of the bottle of wine she’d given him had disappeared after that, his mind trying to wrap around the information she’d thrown down on the table. Her world must be more like Arlathan than he would have guessed. 

Thema let him try and reconcile her words before launching into the second part of her tale. Her own meandering journey into this world. 

There was little backstory on her world, the lack of magic, what science was, that there was nothing but humans on the round rock called Earth. She had been one of them, a bit similar in looks to the body she wore now, but about as tall as him, with darker skin. Once she started on her life it all spilled out, the chaos of her family, running away from them, fighting in back alleys and throwing herself into drink and the beds of strangers. 

That brought back quite a few memories of his own and they shared an awkward chuckle.

She had grown ill. Her arm had broken, and a trip to the healer had uncovered corruption in her bones, what she called ‘cancer’. It was advanced, and that callous man told her she had three weeks to live and left the white room. Solas tempered his anger, watching her face as her bottom lip quivered yet she tried to seem unaffected by the retelling. A second opinion was sought, from a kinder healer, but the verdict was the same: corruption of the bones and not long to live. 

He would never forget the shaky breaths, the deep drain of wine and the barely concealed sobs as she forged further. This was not what he was expecting, that he would be the one she would tell this to – but who else could she tell? - and that he would react with emotion not as detached as their sex was. That he wanted to reach out a hand for her to hold, to steady her as she faced demons she hadn’t yet faced. He wanted to run form this but his feet wouldn’t move.

There were painkillers given to make the pain in her bones bearable and instead she had…

Bitter laughter wrapped around her words. ‘I can recall looking down at my body on that backwoods path, wondering what was going to happen now.’ 

When the Conclave had been destroyed and the Breach opened, it had reached her world as a tiny green speck. She had touched it, been consumed by it and thrown into the Fade. At her feet, the dying Lavellan, Divine Justinia trying to save the elf. Thema had stepped into the body just as the other left it, the flesh still alive but the shape all wrong.

Now he knew.

Now he knew why her spirit seemed to extend beyond her body, why it felt malignant and erratic. It didn’t belong here. Her spirit was trying to adapt to the new body, to the magic around it, and her spikes of anger, the arguing, the emotional instability made sense. Top that with the cherry of her death and rebirth, missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place. His curiosity was spiked, the anger over the bridge incident fading, and he felt more like himself, in control and seeking answers. 

He could help, possibly having to do so without her consent, with the aid of the Fade. A spirit was a malleable thing, it could conform to situation and necessity like water filled a pitcher or a glass. A nudge and guidance was all it needed. 

That night they had parted ways without touch or unkind words. She needed to rest, wobbling on her feet from alcohol and the release of memory, and he needed to search the Fade for answers and solutions. 

That’s where the change had started.

He watched her, prodding from a distance with the knowledge he’d gleaned, molding like a gardener guided trees and plants into shape. Soft touches, trying not to change who she was, always keenly aware that a push too hard could either destroy or change her beyond recognition. 

That constant observation also made him notice little things: her pointed ears hugged her head in a way that was considered unattractive but he liked it, she had freckles hiding in the tone of her skin, the way she walked that made her hips sway – even more exaggerated when she noticed him watching -, that she actually cared about the people around her. Thema could be found playing with the few children in Haven, curious in the way the town ran, and even though she was blunt and callous with little patience for idiots, she was willing to listen to those worth her time.

The more he noticed, the more he started to care. 

They still fucked, of course, but the anger was gone now. Why they still continued was a mystery, perhaps because they were two strangers in the same world.   
It was when he studied the marks on his body in the mirror of a stream that he really knew everything had changed. She left red curtains of nail marks on his shoulders and hips, bruises on his neck and shoulders from her teeth. They had never bothered him before, more badges of pride and pleasure in the little sparks of pain, but now he enjoyed wearing them. People could see them above the collar of his wrapped undershirt, and the growing ‘Inner Circle’ knew that they were having sex, something that had stopped bothering him quite a while ago.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning under his breath. The path had been tread too far to stop now, and he wouldn’t stop even given the choice. Something would need to change in their arrangement and soon. 

Perhaps after Val Royeaux, they would speak again.


	32. Fog

Every noise, no matter how close or far, made every muscle tense up, a small flood of adrenaline into her system, ready for the flight or fight response. All day, through every meeting and briefing, reviewing troop movement and relief efforts, dealing with supply orders and armor fittings, she felt like she was moving through sharpened blades. Cutting at her from the inside out, slicing her pride and self-worth to ribbons that laid scattered at her feet, so thin and torn she wasn’t sure that she could piece them back together. It was a battle to meet eyes, to smile and laugh at stupid jokes, to pretend to care about anything that was brought before her that day.

She was careful in every move she made, trying not to draw attention to herself with sound or word when she could.

It took far too long to escape, a second of freedom that she took with both hands. Feet slapped the stone floors as she raced through the hallways of bedrooms, both for some of the Inner Circle and for visiting nobles, dignitaries, taking the stairs two steps at a time until she could slam the door of her quarters shut behind her. The hand with the Anchor slapped the ward-sign that had been carved into the stone frame, barricading herself in the solitude.

Noise dimmed up here, through stone and glass. It wasn’t completely gone but she no longer felt like fleeing or hurting someone. Thema sank onto the couch, pulling a pillow into her arms and curling around it. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them loose. To cry would mean weakness and she had cried too much already.

Now that she was alone the ache crept into her head, into her bones, tension released after hours. It was a fitful sleep she fell into, one that she only pulled herself out of just for a moment, as the ward fell. There were words spoken, lost in the air and fog, the scent of patchouli and dragon’s blood, as she was taken to her bed. Magic warmed the sheets around her, the soft rhythm of another language rising and falling like music. Not elvhen, but something else…

There was only one person who would disrupt the ward and find her even if she didn’t wish it: Dorian. Solas and Cole would respect her wish for distance, and she was sure that Solas had already come to see her and left her alone in the presence of the barrier.

Suddenly, the need to be alone was overwhelmed with the desire to have someone close by. The noise she made was pitiful when her friend started to pull away and a hand groped in the air to make him stay. A warm hand caught hers, squeezing tightly in a promise that he would not leave. He merely parted long enough to strip himself of boots and pointy metal bits before joining her in bed.

It was odd to be pulled against a chest that was broader - and far more hairier- than she was used to. The warm hand that had held hers now combed through her hair, feeding that need for contact. A hum in his chest drew her back into sleep where her lover waited for her in the shadows, keeping Demons of Despair and Fear from her dreams, and outside the door, a Spirit of Compassion kept those of flesh away.


	33. I Can't

“I can’t do this.”

Haven stretched out before her, so much bigger than the one she had known. Ramshackle and broken houses clustered together in the shadow of the Chantry, lights in the windows. The training grounds outside of the walls with tents and the horses from Master Dennet. Smoke and the scent of bitter metal rose from the forges and mixed with the pungent green from the apothecary. 

All of this, all of these people, they all looked at her like she was more than what she was. More than an otherworlder with some stolen mark on her hand. She was no fighter, not a diplomat and definitely not a leader. The thought of becoming the Inquisitor made her stomach clench, hot painful flush in her cheeks and scratching along the top of her skull. Changing eyes kept staring over the town as the sky darkened and everything turned muddy brown and dull gray.

“They don’t trust you.” The whisper sounded inside her head and from behind. It sounded like Cassandra and Vivienne. Tremors shook her body, fingers digging into the palms of her hands.

“They will die because of you.” From in front of her. Leliana and Cullen mangled together like a bad voice over. The flush in her cheeks made her vision swim, the heat and sensation almost overwhelming.

“You should be dead.” Licking at the edges of her stolen pointed ears, Sera and Varric. The words skittered down her spine and into her belly, squeezing at her guts. 

Shoulders started to buckle under the voices, knees shaking and burning up from the inside out. Teeth dug into her cheeks to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling. “I can’t…” 

“No, you can’t. You stole this life, you took what didn’t belong to you.” Blackwall now, hypocrisy wrapped up tight in his words that made her laugh. Hollow, bitter and yet amused.

“I’m not the only one with a stolen life.”

“You don’t belong here.” Josephine.

“I don’t.” Tickling at the edges of her mind, her vision, slow color seeping back into the sepia and gray. A soft glow and the stroke of fingers on the back of her clenched fists. It took the tears from her eyes and the heat from her body. “But I can’t go back.”

“Failure.”

“User.”

“Bitch.” 

The words cut deep but she didn’t buckle. Something propped her up, cleared her mind, let her see again. Haven could be seen again and now she knew. The streets were empty of life, like a frozen still frame but for the snow that fell from a cloudless sky. “I’m in the Fade.” The amorphous glow seemed to nod, wrapped around her shoulders. “You’re a demon.”

Rage was the new heat that welled up in her chest, made the color sharper, the fires burn brighter. “Go the fuck away and leave me alone.” Nails cut into her palms again but the pain was comforting instead. She was in control.

“You don’t belong here.” The hazy outline of the Despair Demon could be seen now, hovering before her. The dry and brittle, wrinkled, hands wrung themselves, hiding in its dull blue robes. 

“I know that.” She stared at it, taking some small pleasure in how its head swung back and forth, trying not to meet her gaze. It wasn’t just Despair, but Cowardice as well. “I didn’t choose this but I’m fucking going to make it work.” Conviction filled her words and the demon flinched with every one of them. “I may not save everyone, things may go wrong, they may not trust me but I don’t give a damn. I may be a bitch but I’m going to be the bitch and failure and user who closes the Breach and ends this. Now get the fuck away from me.”

“You won’t-“

“GO AWAY!” The roar filled the air like a dragon, shaking the foundation of the Fade-Haven. As it faded away the demon was gone. The thing around her shoulders trilled its happiness, nudging at her cheek like a cat. 

Muscles relaxed and she let out a deep breath. That was a first and she doubted it would be the last. The piece of the Fade she held in her hand would bring more. She would need to be vigilant to their tricks and traps. Shoulders were rolled to ease the last bit of tension. Since she was in the Fade and aware of it she should look around, see if she could exert any influence over it. Maybe see if she could see the memories Solas could. Speaking of…

She turned to look at Solas’ hut and froze. “Solas?” The elvhen man stood there in his usual spot, though he watched her with a small, proud smile, and hands clasped behind his back. “Please don’t tell me you were here the entire time and didn’t do anything.”

The smile widened a bit and he tilted his head as he did. “It was not my fight to win.” Eyes dropped to the glow around her shoulders. “The help you needed was not mine to give either.”

Fingers rose to touch, surprised at the warm mass it had. “Is this a Spirit? What kind?”

“Purpose.”


End file.
